| Tall times not flexible
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| The bitter taste of hate and ash
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| Shatter the endless fear
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| Becon the trepid tear
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| So silent in passing
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| A dawn whose breath is spent
|
| In this I see you
|
| Gulls rise in solemn instinct
|
| Terror clings to fatal cliffs
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| Against the depress ocean pull
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| And though I scream my mouth has no rewards
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| Sounds that climb, sounds that die
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| The fate of words against the sky
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| In this I hear you
|
| I don’t know why you offer
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| Like a lamb being led to the slaughter
|
| You push and scream and falter
|
| A sacrifice on the altar
|
| I cannot give you comfort
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| The time and lines that distort
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| It’s not your way of being
|
| It’s what you are not seeing
|
| I don’t know why you offer
|
| Waist high in all the slaughter
|
| The time we live must falter
|
| The silent faces on the altar
|
| Why you offer
|
| Our crisis moves in huddle hobble
|
| Deserving spit thin faces stare
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| To know this place and still disagree
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| To tempt the temple that was always she
|
| The sentence kills the inner drive
|
| Roads to see but not to thrive
|
| In this I know you |