| The poems I wrote for the last few years
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| Were nothing, but vague prophecies
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| But they abode what they promised
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| So be careful what you wish for, you might get it…
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| Some guys, they just give up living
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| And start dying little by little, piece by piece
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| Some guys bury their hopes beneath disrooted trees
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| But most of them just die a wretched death near these streets…
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| My memories got stolen… so hail to the thief
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| Irony causes laughter, but laughter causes pain
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| These mountains, one day, will soak the sea
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| But I won’t witness, I won’t neither hear nor see…
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| I can already hear the chains clatter behind my ears
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| I can feel the flames searing all last evidence
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| That we have lost this battle doesn’t mean we’ve lost the war
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| But only when we’ve lost everything, we’ll be free to leave…
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| We’ll be free to leave…
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| We shared the thirst of swans in the summer
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| We shared alignment, the lack long after
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| This city will be the death of me…
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| To be homebound will be the death of me…
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| I can never regret, I can feel sorrow, but at least it’s not the same thing
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| I take leave heavy at heart, although it was out of our hands…
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| We shared the thirst of swans in the summer
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| We shared alignment, the lack long after
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| This city will be the death…
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| Will be the death of me |