| Command and repose and perfect posture
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| Set up to segregate afflictions we foster
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| The words fall dead, slip down the side
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| The wounded risen up and taken from the worst ride
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| Out in the cold when we speak solid breath
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| We make our moves under cover of death
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| Outside the walls with the sick and insane
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| No shade or shelter from the shame-flavored rain
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| And I can see it’s the same as before
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| Condemned to suffer the seeds we have sown
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| To the degree that we reject and deny
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| Too greedy, too selfish to try
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| Deadbolt the mind, unplug the phone
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| Deny the promise of what’s freely been shown
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| Just turn away, pretend it’s not there
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| The strings of ignorance grown too sick to care
|
| Out on an island of self-centered spite
|
| Lay in our beds under cover of night
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| Curl up and weep, narcissistic in vain
|
| No shade or shelter from the shame-flavored rain
|
| And without a shift in course
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| We will approach our destination
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| Can you deny it?
|
| Throughout the flames that scorch the civility
|
| Right off the page of a selfish history
|
| The tide turns to create it’s union
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| Now’s our chance, time to disconnect
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| Preserve some dignity, a system to respect
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| It’s been justified and relegated
|
| We bog down in our symptoms of despair
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| Too far along to pretend we even care
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| Pretend you fucking care |