| And it’s been forty days
|
| I’ve tried forty ways
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| You will never quite leave your sins behind
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| They’ll haunt you, taunt you 'til the day you die
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| You will never really go
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| You’ll just think about it much but you’ll need to know
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| How the story ends, so you’ll sit around
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| Even though you should just go
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| Tell your friends what you have heard
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| Show them all the lies unlearned
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| And when you really go
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| You will really know you were never meant for earth
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| What’s it worth?
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| If we’re gonna break it down with any logic, it’s absurd
|
| And no matter where we go, we are not alone
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| When the silence turns to cries of, «Why?»
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| What a way to begin, we inherit sin
|
| And nobody’s going to quench your thirst
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| When the well runs dry
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| And nobody’s going to hold your hand on the day you die
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| I’ve tasted seven sins, so they won’t let me in
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| I knock, knock, knock until my knuckles are bruised and raw
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| Stuck in the middle with my blood in a puddle on the floor
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| And I made my bed, I’ll judge myself
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| And only then and there will I disappear
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| To my final resting place
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| What a waste
|
| So many decent people at the gates
|
| And no matter where we go, we are not alone
|
| When the silence turns to cries of, «Why?»
|
| What a way to begin, we inherit sin
|
| And nobody’s going to quench your thirst
|
| When the well runs dry
|
| And nobody’s going to hold your hand on the day you die |