| All these animals and peasants chase their capital investments
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| Vested interests, I’m disinterested, my patterns show obsession
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| An attic full of questions with no answers for the standards
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| Just synapses lapses, passages, suggestions, past is present
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| Man, I hate the summer, so I stay inside; |
| days are numbered
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| They only trace the lines, my sky’s rain and thunder
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| Deface each other, rape and plunder, bases covered
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| On the basis that I’m basic, based in basins I’m too drained to slumber
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| I save the numbers of my dead friends, it makes me wonder
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| Why it strangely comforts, my brain’s asunder
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| Under suns I’ve been taken under, made a hunter
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| Undertaken where the bugs and aphids clutter
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| Handshakes feel like cable jumpers
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| I taste the sunburns but the tongue is rarely accurate
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| Compare their avarice to mine and I can’t bear the wrath of it
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| I’m out of it but passionate, past the fist is a pacifist
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| A satirist like Jonathan Swift’s mental paralysis
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| I’m harlequin, walking dead, coughing phlegm no oxygen
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| Generation Y am I supposed to do it? |
| Talk to them
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| I lost my innocence, drifted into the distance
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| Went from different to indifferent, get sickened by this existence
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| Mourning Glory…
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| I feel strangled by the chain that my father used to wear
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| It dangles by my heart, it was the cross that he would bear
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| Every time I think of him, I always go to reach for it
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| ‘Cause it reminds me of the sacred bond that we would share
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| Before the costs I’d inherit, the talks that I’d cherish
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| The loss of a parent made the loss more apparent
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| I’m lost in apparent paradox, I can’t escape or see
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| Between faith and grief, pain and ease, they made me pray and
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| Place my knees on cinder blocks, break my teeth, and lick the scars
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| Make me eat this bitter heart 'til the taste gets sweet
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| I don’t chase my drinks these days
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| I hate to sound cliché, but it’s cliché to say I hate to sound cliché
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| I may be breaking out these chains today
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| I’m finally free, amiss in this abyss, I guess I’m spiralling
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| It’s standard stuff, flashing floods, that’s my blood you’re siphoning
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| A side of me’s beside itself for anchoring in Hell
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| But I can’t see the light I need to save me from myself
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| It’s Mourning Glory
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| I got these bars in my head like I’m Phineas Gage
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| This gauge is on empty so give me some space
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| Spaced out from the memories I didn’t erase
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| Rays pound all around me, kissing my face
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| Face down, down on my luck, lust for the crown
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| Crown in my cup, coupled amounts, mountains erupt
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| Ruptures I count, count-downs downtrodden
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| Trot around downtowns 'til I drown in a bottle, like
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| And now I’m reading Walden
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| Walled-in like I’m sleeping in a coffin
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| Coughin' while I’m breathing in the toxins
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| Talk sins when I’m needing to absolve them
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| Themselves, set sail, sail set
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| Hellbent, inhale, tell sins
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| Send tales of the tailspins
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| Tip scales, scale-skinned when the trail ends
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| She called me blue flower, more like Morning Glory
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| My port is storming every time she tries to ford it for me
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| They’re always warring on the inside
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| There’s Morning Glory on the inside
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| Can’t hurry the morning light
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| I tried with all my might
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| I’m hanging upside-down
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| Facing to the ground
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| 'Til I bring back the fire |