| With the dawn brings vision of the crawling field
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| Riddled with vain attempts. |
| All in a corpse, so familiar but not my own
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| This is the difference, between you and I. We are the captive fighters
|
| But cuffs must hold stronger. |
| Stronger than skin
|
| Oh, but until the drops number the floor I’ll pull
|
| Cause I saw the gates, I saw the gates
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| And they’re guarded by a greedy shield and the most carnal of edge
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| This is the difference. |
| You’ve left on your own, so forlorn
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| What have you done?!
|
| You’ve traded the chains, and bought yourself a new crown
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| Now there are no bars! |
| Now there are no bars!
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| When lips reveal the knives a victim from light, becomes feed for the parched
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| Bishop, you’re as far from the cloth as the dogs
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| And we share that familiar thirst
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| Bishop, mouths wet with the thought of meat, to tear and taste
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| But will it quench? |
| Because it never does
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| Oh our crest is the same, but it’s a lie when you wear it. |
| It’s a lie!
|
| For the chain and the drops lure
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| And you, the captive fighter, with victory off your tongue
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| Thats what you did when you made your own crown. |
| That’s what you did!
|
| When the weak looked up to you! |
| But you wore your own crown
|
| You fraud! |
| Light the pyre! |
| A fraud has been found!
|
| Let it be known, this war will not be won without fire, without loss,
|
| or without a fight |