| Well, there’s a hundred million souls
|
| All looking for redemption
|
| But most of them are digging holes
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| To bury their intentions
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| We treat it like a sacred shrine
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| And then we lose all faith
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| So everybody walks the line
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| The guilty and misplaced
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| With eyes that are swollen and tearful
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| We all take a bow
|
| It passes the time for a moment
|
| But what happens now?
|
| Down the streets, somehow dead and empty
|
| Watch the people pray
|
| Stand in line, wishing they had plenty
|
| On the thirteenth day
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| What’s happening in the world today?
|
| There’s nothing but confusion
|
| You can’t believe a word they say
|
| I’ve come to that conclusion
|
| But something tells me it’s all wrong
|
| It’s not the way to go
|
| I think we knew it all along
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| But didn’t want to show
|
| We capture the words that were spoken
|
| They hang in your mind
|
| But surely they all will be broken
|
| And slowly unwind
|
| Down the streets, somehow dead and empty
|
| Watch the people pray
|
| Stand in line, wishing they had plenty
|
| On the thirteenth day
|
| Pure in heart, there’s no time to worry
|
| Some get pushed away
|
| They won’t touch, ‘cause their hands are bloody
|
| On the thirteenth day
|
| Down the streets, somehow dead and empty
|
| Watch the people pray
|
| Stand in line, wishing they had plenty
|
| On the thirteenth day
|
| Pure in heart, there’s no time to worry
|
| Some get pushed away
|
| They won’t touch, ‘cause their hands are bloody
|
| On the thirteenth day |