| Lingering in your garden here our tired hands are bound
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| To toiling without pleasure in this murky earth we found
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| Distance is at fault here and its slowly gaining ground
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| So stay here at my table till proximity is sound
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| Keep it in, keep your last breathe, make it worthwhile
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| I was looking for something, when I was pulling my skin off
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| So if god is an acronym, some giver of damnation
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| Then why even bother with the concept of man
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| Ideals have run wild, escaped from our heads
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| And with the chosen so few should it warrant attempt?
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| And what if my fear is all that I am?
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| A poison to ease what small conscience I have left
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| But soon we’ll find we lived and died with the world in our hands
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| You left all your children out
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| You left all your children fending for our precious lives
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| I am the fortunate one, left with the blood in my skin
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| You are the only thing I hope is real in a dark world
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| I am the fortunate one, left with the blood in my limbs
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| You are the only thing I hope is real in a dark world |