| We laid our names to rest
|
| Along the dotted line
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| We left our date of birth
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| And our history behind
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| We were full of life
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| We could barely hold it in
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| We were amateurs at war
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| Strangers to suffering
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| We made our families proud
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| But scared at the same time
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| We promised we’d be safe
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| Another lie from the front lines
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| Our backs against the wall
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| We’re surrounded and afraid
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| Our lives now in the hands
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| Of the soldiers taking aim
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| Our questions ricochet
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| Like broken satellites:
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| How our bodies, born to heal
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| Become so prone to die?
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| Though time is ruthless
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| It showed us kindness in the end
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| By slowing down enough
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| A second chance to make amends
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| As life replayed, we heard a voice proclaim:
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| «Lay your weapons down!
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| They’re calling off the war
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| On account of losing track
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| Of what we’re fighting for»
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| So we found our way back home
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| Let our cuts and bruises heal
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| While a brand-new war began
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| One that no one else could feel
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| Our nights have grown so long
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| Now we beg for sound advice
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| «Let the brokenness be felt
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| 'Til you reach the other side
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| There is goodness in the heart
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| Of every broken man
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| Who comes right up to the edge
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| Of losing everything he has»
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| We were young enough to sign
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| Along the dotted line
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| Now we’re young enough to try
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| To build a better life
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| To build a better life |