| You never were aware of me since you died certain years before my birth
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| I’m about your age now, soon to attain the days you lost your vital spark
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| Although you‘re not my father, I’m nevertheless your daughters‘ brother
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| We will never meet in person and I’ll never lay roses, just thorns to your grave
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| It was more than three decades ago they found you close to the woods
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| Your gaunt dead body, held by nothing but this plaited noose
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| My sister was with them, till today she failed to forget
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| To her you will never age, your face will never grow old
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| These days of autumn at least wrecked their lives
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| And in the long run, somehow it too shattered mine
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| There’s no way anybody will get well again
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| And in no way, anybody will be the same again
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| There is this graveyard far up in the mountains
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| We met up there in last winter’s coldest night
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| When mom brought you dewy flowers
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| Like she did in all the years before
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| There’s so much death up there
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| Especially at night
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| Maybe that’s the reason
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| It’s the only place I feel home
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| I can totally get your motives
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| As I know of severity too
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| I was always aware that nothing ends with suicide
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| I was always aware that people die from sadness
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| We move up to the gallows, straight up to the noose
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| In this state of depression there’s no time left to loose
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| So we pour this tree, this life of reckless dedication
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| How couldn’t we? |
| Our coffin’s shaped by its wood
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| I don’t know if you care
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| But your old cabin still guards the gates to the woods
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| It‘s still watching the mountains grow
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| Watching all these years passing by
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| And after death almost seized it
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| We gave our best to fill it with life
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| It still looks the same like back in the old days
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| As you‘d have left it just last June |