| At the mantle of the heart, a river flows inside
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| We drain ourselves in steady streams until the river runs dry
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| At times these tides define us, deny us of ourselves
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| A finite source of optimism that leaves a hollow shell
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| And as the seasons pass and winter’s numbing cold gives way to pain
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| We light these fires to sit beside as we pray like hell for rain
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| (But when the night grows cold
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| And when the fire fades)
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| At the hour before the dawn, the last embers burn till day
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| It’s all I hang my hope upon
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| You can’t take that away from me
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| Every morning in the mirror I see
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| My worst enemy reflected in me
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| 'Cause I’m a born unbeliever, a cynical soul
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| I can only trust as far as I see
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| But every time I close my eyes
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| I’m who I used to be (Who I used to be)
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| I never thought I’d feel so cold
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| Until the fire faded out in me
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| I’ve never felt so cold
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| Such sacrifice for so little to show
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| To learn these lessons I never wanted to know
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| That we will all die alone
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| And how my blood remains on the tip of the blade as it severs the flesh from
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| the bone
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| So far beyond the below
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| I was there when they sowed the seed
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| I was there when the rats came out to feed
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| And when the rain came
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| It extinguished the flame in me
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| (As I slept, the seeds of doubt were sown)
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| (I tore my heart apart for this, in hopes my light would grow)
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| And I dreamt about a place where all our virtue could withstand
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| I woke in fright
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| Appalled to find the blood was on my hands
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| But every time I close my eyes
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| I’m who I used to be (Who I used to be)
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| I never thought I’d feel so cold
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| Until the fire faded out in me
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| I’ve never felt so cold |