| Your hands are folded
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| Your eyes are closing
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| Your words are broken
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| Your eyes are dry
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| I’m weak looking at you, a pillar of truth, turning to dust
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| I’m weak looking at you, a pillar of truth, turning to dust
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| You are your mother’s child
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| You’re a mother of a mother of a mother now
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| Raised in the age of the milkman
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| I can’t claim to understand
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| I’m weak looking at you, a pillar of truth, turning to dust
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| I’m weak looking at you, a pillar of truth, turning to dust
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| Lord, prepare me
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| For the shadows
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| For the sparrows
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| At my window
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| Lord, have mercy
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| On my descendants
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| For they know not what they do
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| For they know not who you are, Lord
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| And they know not what to do
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| I, the anchor, am slowly sinking
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| Into darkness yet unknown
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| But the fading light around me
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| Is full of faces who carry my name
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| I’m weak looking at you, a pillar of truth, turning to dust
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| I’m weak looking at you, a pillar of truth, turning to dust
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| Lord, be near me
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| My final hour
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| I once had sight
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| But now I’m blind
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| Oh, I tried to be
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| A second coming
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| And if I was
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| Nobody knew
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| If my throat can’t sing
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| Then my soul screams out to you!
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| I’m weak looking at you, a pillar of truth, turning to dust
|
| I’m weak looking at you, a pillar of truth, turning to dust |