| We wake up in a bed of sin
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| And stare up at the ceiling as high as the sky
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| Like it’s our way to fly
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| We’re chasing a reason to exist
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| But can’t seem to escape the loneliness
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| Running in circles around happiness
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| With houses made of gold
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| Defined by what we own
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| We follow what we’re told
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| Fit right into the mold
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| Is this what we need to breathe
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| Or are we just feeding our disease
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| We lost sight of what we can’t touch
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| We lost it all but can’t remember how to love
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| I’m open with an empty heart
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| And we shall grieve until we start
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| We wonder why we feel empty inside
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| Why there’s a hunger that we can’t satisfy
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| A lonely world with a bad design
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| You waste your time on an endless climb
|
| With houses made of gold
|
| Defined by what we own
|
| We follow what we’re told
|
| Fit right into the mold
|
| Is this what we need to breathe
|
| Or are we just feeding our disease
|
| Prisoners of a hopeless war
|
| Fighting with a double edged sword
|
| We could be free
|
| If we stop feeding our disease
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| We stand on top of the world
|
| But still there’s hollow ground
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| We stand on top of the world
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| When all is wrong
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| We stand at the top of the world, alone
|
| With houses made of gold
|
| Defined by what we own
|
| We follow what we’re told
|
| Fit right into the mold
|
| Is this what we need to breathe
|
| Or are we just feeding our disease
|
| Prisoners of a hopeless war
|
| Fighting with a double edged sword
|
| We could be free
|
| If we stop feeding our disease |