| Sweat on the brow runs over faces made of snow
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| There comes a time in life when death may come too slow
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| Honesty in the necrology
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| The offspring smear your name in print
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| You have waited far too long
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| But Spring is set in bloom
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| You have conquered love inside
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| Yet sorrow is your doom
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| The debts are long since paid, inheritance is set
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| Still agitation reels inside, lest you forget
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| Lest you forget
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| At sunrise Friday morning, a haven for your sins
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| The written dedication etched into your skin
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| Time won’t heal the wounds you bear
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| Between old pride and desperate prayers
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| Time won’t heal any wounds you bear
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| A set few years of your life are stolen
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| Light cast on the obvious
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| Behold the white when it’s faded golden
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| A stranger’s truth holds no water here
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| But soon we may have learned
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| Dead sympathy, an aversion proceeds
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| A voice lives in your chest that comforts wary thoughts
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| Yet the brook is still too wide to bridge the gap you’ve sought
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| Honesty in the necrology
|
| The offspring smear your name in print
|
| You trade your vices every day religiously
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| A pack of vultures wait for everyone to see
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| You gave away too much, a harness on your kin
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| For any transgressions never mirrored mortal sin
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| Mortal sin
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| You’re still alone
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| The day in zenith now, you made it through the night
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| Voice of perdition came and went far out of sight |