| Now you could be a leaf in the breeze or a dust mote
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| Or the blood on the blade of a cut-throat
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| Or the lamb
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| Or a man, stranded in the tide til' he drifts into the sand
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| You could play the victim
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| You could be the scammed
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| You could be the conquered people of the land
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| You can be deceived
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| You can be the reed
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| You could be the clear cut wood, or the seeds
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| Grow roots, stretch out, expand
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| Mimic an old man’s lines on his hands
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| The rich man’s time slips by like a serpent
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| Because it can’t be bought from a merchant
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| Stains won’t come out with detergent
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| Out, damn spot, out!
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| But it’s permanent
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| So we’re burnin' it
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| Pain, we’re earnin' it
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| Ask why I gaze up to the firmament
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| So make haste, a standstill stuck in place
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| Stardust, we’re all just stuff in space
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| It’s tough to grasp, but we must embrace
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| And some will come to wonder «What the fuck is fate?»
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| It is or it isn’t, it wasn’t or it was
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| We’re dying to rig the system with a switch or a plug
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| We tinker and we nudge, it’s an addiction of us
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| To put our hands on it and snap a stick in the mud
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| But time is infinite, and the clock’s an instrument
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| For you to watch it all tick past in increments
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| But if there was a dream, then we’re all convinced in it
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| All kinds of brilliant minds and simpletons
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| I’ve heard it said that the eyes are the windows in
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| They shine and dance like bonfires in the winterwind
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| Cause' there’s a light within and if you find you begin to smell smoke
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| It’s 'cause I use the rhymes as kindling
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| Round and round we go, we got to go off what we know
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| Round and round we go, til' we all end up alone |