| A midnight game of hide and seek
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| Within the cemetery gates
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| Face pressed against nocturnal fields
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| Where granite headstoned congregate
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| I’m not scare in this moonless night
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| Everyone here admits they’re dead inside
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| Corpses below whisper their alibis
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| Explaining wasted lives
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| So where were you on this stormy night?
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| Is there a witness who can testify
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| That you didn’t take your own life
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| And hide the body by the turn pike?
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| We are hollow, agents of need
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| We reep the comfort while the third world bleeds
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| This will not change until we start to breath
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| Until we start living
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| I bought a dozen roses
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| And I put on my nicest clothes
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| I’m trembling but I look good
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| I’m ready to seduce my soul
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| Here is a time, here is a chance
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| To give my life some romance
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| And to be greater than the living dead
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| Fill up the neighborhoods with art
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| Make theaters in our own backyards
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| Laugh like you need it to survive
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| Sing just to prove that we’re alive
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| We’re alive
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| This is our time, this is our chance
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| To give our lives some romance
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| Have more to say than just nodding our heads
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| This is my time, this is my chance
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| I’m breaking out of this trance
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| Climbing out of this hospital bead
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| Park path concrete, words in chalk challenge me
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| «This is yours, so take it back»
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| Forge artistry or live passionlessly?
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| This life is mine, I want it back |