| I’ve cut the wings deep to the bone
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| I see the hourglass below
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| I hear them coming down the road
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| The cover of midnight has me cold
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| The cloaked stranger waits for no one
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| Pleas are just wasted words
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| Shadows dance to the symphony of the souls beneath the earth
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| Harmed by desire, warned each time to stray from the cold
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| Plagued by the time you still see slipping into nothing
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| Second chances are false hopes before the hangman’s rope
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| A sight you’ll never want to know, the face of the death we owe
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| No one is ever exempt from the death we owe
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| No one is ever exempt from the death we owe
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| Here, second chances are false hope
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| See the silhouette of the hangman’s rope
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| It’s a place that you’ll never want to know
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| Everyone has to face the death we owe
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| Harmed by desire, warned each time to stray from the cold
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| Plagued by the time you still see slipping into nothing
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| Just one death we owe, from which no one’s exempt
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| And when that force takes hold, at least you’ll be on you own |