| I have no choice but to treat you like you died
|
| sprinkle the soil, to bury you
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| We can no longer bear your Jovian will;
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| it’s a massive thing, but in the end it’s just a cloud
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| All we did was build ideas,
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| unreachable and cavernous,
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| omnipotent, ravenous!
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| A shady lane, a picket fence
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| and all was based on faithfulness
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| on hollow, trustless lust and sex
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| And I can’t believe we were so bold
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| to sculpt and mold what the future holds
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| because our woods burned down two weeks ago
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| and our pond dried up to reveal the bones
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| of our child who drowned when she was too young
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| and my body couldn’t bear the second one
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| Now all that’s left is our empty home,
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| a flame-bitten exoskeleton
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| So in a thousand years when I’ve renewed
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| I’ll tear at the soil that buried you
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| desperately try to exhume
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| but there’ll be nothing left that I knew of you
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| You’ll be somewhere far away
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| a new girlfriend, a better place
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| a house, a home, a dream fulfilled
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| and I hope with a newfound iron will |