| On the edge of the city in the dust and the daylight
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| There’s a place where the truth cannot hide
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| There’s no hell and no heaven, no sense in believing
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| All you have is your hope and your pride
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| Rusting iron, bricks and paper, hold each other for shelter
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| So you sleep and you call it a home
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| You may just hear the sound of the «Calm Before The Storm»
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| In my heart of the country far away from the town
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| Working day after day in the factories and mines
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| And your name is a number and your colour is black
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| It’s the colour of midnight and coal
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| Well, the young men are restless and the old men are tired
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| Always working for nothing and being alone
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| You can feel the heat of the «Calm Before The Storm»
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| Well, you can move a mountain and shut out the sky
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| You can put out the fire but the flame won’t die, ohhhh…
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| You must see it blue and early at morning
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| As the smoke settles slowly and the crowd clears away
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| The shouting is over, they have nothing to say
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| Nineteen voices of silence lying dead in the street
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| Nineteen voices are still now ten thousand will fight
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| And you might know the voice of the «Calm Before The Storm»
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| Well, you can move a mountain and shut out the sky
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| You can put out the fire but the flame won’t die
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| Well, you can move a mountain and shut out the sky
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| And you can put out the fire but the flame won’t die
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| Mmm hmmm hmmm… Mmm hmmm hmmm…
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| Mmm hmmm hmmm… Mmm hmmm hmmm…
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| Mmm hmmm hmmm… Mmm hmmm hmmm…
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| Mmm hmmm hmmm… Mmm hmmm hmmm…
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| Mmm hmmm hmmm… Mmm hmmm hmmm… |