| Seldom have I ever questioned the end
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| Still I grow frost when I’m reminded
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| Euphemisms on a loop interchange
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| Which hands get to turn the final page?
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| In whose throat belongs the swan song
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| Of crisis, warming, denial, change?
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| State TV helps the public explain
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| Broadcast beamed into the dry terrain
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| Images of drenched survival
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| Without hope but soaked with pain
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| Consequences of reality felt
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| All conditions of humanity built
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| On the bridges
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| Tent villages waiting for the state to help
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| Glass barely bends before it cracks
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| Embedded down into our path
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| Paved in the crimson of our tracks
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| Without the chance of turning back
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| Before the water gets too high
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| Before the water gets too high
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| If the clock strikes midnight then
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| What becomes of our demonstrations?
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| To which fate have these gatherings fell?
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| Which walls echo all the chants we yelled
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| Into faces on the coins we tossed into the wishing well?
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| Drinking water on which we subsist
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| Mixing into rivers that did not exist yesterday
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| When all the warning signs were there but sorely missed
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| What’s it worth all the money we made
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| Floating idly in a newborn lake?
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| Far above financial centers
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| Cities sink like market rates
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| Glass barely bends before it cracks
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| Embedded down into our path
|
| Paved in the crimson of our tracks
|
| Without the chance of turning back
|
| Before the water gets too high
|
| Add up the bribes you take
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| And know time can’t be bought
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| By the profits that you make
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| Before the water gets too high
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| To float the powers that be
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| Or is it someone else’s job
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| Until the rich are refugees?
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| Before the water gets too high
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| Before the water gets too high
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| Before the water gets too high
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| Before the water gets too high |