| Heaven help the soul that’s severed
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| From the place where it belongs
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| Caught up in the mindless struggle
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| Of the weak against the strong
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| Headlights along the border
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| Keep the peace, their law and order
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| Why can’t we see it’s all a record of lies
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| It’s their kind of strength
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| It’s their only defense
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| An imaginary line
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| Just a kid and his younger brother
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| Headed for the wire
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| Had no rights in the telescopic sights
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| Of the vigilante’s rifle fire
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| And now he’s buried on the border
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| Where the rivers are blood not water
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| Why can’t we see it’s all a record of lies
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| (Why can’t we see)
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| It’s their kind of truth
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| It can only be proved
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| With imaginary lines
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| In times like these concerning
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| Who decides which bridge is burning
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| Don’t fall for-map reading
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| Just make sure that you’re still breathing
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| After the lines were drawn, the children would
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| Dream of the pearls and how beautiful they were
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| Year after year they would dive to the bottom of
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| The lagoon hoping that the oysters would come
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| Back. |
| They risked everything-their homes, families
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| And meager possessions-to search for the pearls
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| To make sure they were heavy enough to reach the
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| Bottom, the children tied stones to their backs
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| Many of them died, streams of blood and broken
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| Bodies rose to the surface of the lagoon… and
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| The lagoon cried
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| Why can’t we see it’s all a record of lies
|
| (Why can’t we see)
|
| It’s their kind of strength
|
| Their only defense
|
| An imaginary line
|
| Why can’t we see it’s all a record of lies
|
| (Why can’t we see)
|
| It’s their kind of truth
|
| It can only be proved
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| With imaginary lines |