| Here he is, he saves a grin
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| He wants to be the one who doesn’t have to sink a level
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| Indiscrete, in his retreat
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| All he needs is just a taste of the bitter pride
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| He held in her name
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| Embrace the solitude of ordinary fucked up state of grace
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| Far away from the days he bared the cross she used to wear
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| In some resolve well aware
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| A little pitiful, a pin-up boy they dress in grieving wear
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| Well at ease in consent in the drift of undertow
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| He won’t justify the pity from them
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| When he knows… fools in love are arrogant
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| Their sermons cloud his breathing air
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| He’s in love with an isolation from emotion
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| Here he is awaiting sentence
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| A fool to think that anyone can escape guilt and anguish
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| A subtlety that can’t be learned
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| A subtlety that can’t be taught
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| He is caught in the lure of second thoughts
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| He might still care
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| As he settles down well aware
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| Bound in secrecy, his voice will only dignify their fears
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| But sorrow is signified
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| He’s well aware of his pride |