| On the edge of the bay
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| A day just like the next
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| They gather their nets
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| And face their boats around
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| Over the rooftops
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| Hear the hum of wings
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| In seventeen seconds
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| The world explodes
|
| And it buries the night a brave new sunrise
|
| With a sweep of the sword, a blood red sunrise
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| You’ll never see the faces
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| Of the fishermen
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| But you may see their shadows
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| Burned against the wall
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| And in the temple grounds
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| New bamboo grows again
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| As if the heat of the flame
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| Had left no trace at all
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| And there’s a light in the eastern sky … sunrise
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| And there’s no place a man can hide, the sunrise
|
| Well, it buries the night, a brave new sunrise
|
| With a sweep of the sword, a blood red sunrise
|
| But in the cool of the evening
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| When the children sleep
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| The old mountain remembers
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| And hangs his head in clouds
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| And there’s a light in the eastern sky, yeah, … sunrise
|
| And there’s no place a man can hide, the sunrise
|
| Well, it buries the night, a brave new sunrise
|
| With a sweep of the sword, a blood red … sunrise |