| How did they manage to decode us?
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| We were nothing but tools for the trade
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| Do we drive so easily to extreme?
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| Stricken by years of being afraid
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| Behind the cinderblocks of trauma
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| There is a hidden room for guilt
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| No we won’t march in shame
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| To be butchered by your idle hands
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| No we won’t lower heads
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| Fed unto the spiritual guilliotine
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| Inflicted with thoughts against a common foe
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| Never to trust a stranger again
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| Even though subterfuge slowly starts to grow
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| Old habits are hard to be slain
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| You cannot stop this deadly drama
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| Buried under tons of grit
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| Too many despeate lines were written
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| Too many distress calls been made
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| Too many mothers mourned too many sons
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| Too many years of being afraid
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| No — we won’t march in shame
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| No — we won’t take the blame
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| No — we won’t lower heads
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| No — we won’t! |