| There is no one on the air
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| I chase parading ghosts in burning memory
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| Through empty shells of stolen moments
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| As all the stains are reassuring us That they happened
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| Poring over fragments found, lost in portrayal
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| Reflected back unto ourselves
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| I’ve been reduced to a faded impression
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| Attention paid, critical
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| These elements, they fail to align
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| I realize this is passing
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| Do they become something more
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| Under the surface of an image paralyzed
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| As we become nothing
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| Spectral trails echo on the air
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| Aperture set
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| Projected whispers through empty shells of stolen moments pouring over
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| Look back, our illusion is the abstract trail of time left behind
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| And I give myself to the truth
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| Flesh fed to the piranhas
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| Liar’s blood it falls into water
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| Where only the water survives
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| I’ll stare into my own false eyes
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| And watch the life in them die
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| The past will lay dead
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| When the present is slain by the sword of eyes
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| Watch these words run silent, run deep, run together
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| You can’t have it back
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| You can never have it back |