| It’s been two days and seven hours
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| Since we ran out of water
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| And we already lost a few
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| They, as us, were starving
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| Good men, but not as hardened
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| As us remaining in the faith that they did loose
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| As we come crawling towards the tide
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| On our hands and our knees, scraping by
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| No one wants to face the reaper
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| In this god forsaken heat sick
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| And it’s a challenge to feel the need to stay alive
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| It’s getting hard to recognise the faces of my friends
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| Just a week ago they shone with vigour of the brave
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| But the sun has turned their skin into old, worn leather
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| With expressions contorted out of place
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| As we come crawling towards the tide
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| On our hands and our knees, scraping by
|
| No one wants to face the reaper
|
| In this god forsaken heat sick
|
| And it’s a challenge to feel the need to stay alive |