| Heads on spikes, symbols on skulls
|
| Give me a reason to go on
|
| The winter sky is full of ash
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| Broken homes, endless trash
|
| But in the darkness he holds his son
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| He’s all that’s left, the only one
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| In the hills, the people hide
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| Join together, rot inside
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| In this land, the only hope
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| Is to die young, to not get old
|
| But in the darkness he holds his son
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| He’s all that’s left, the only one
|
| In the darkness he holds his son
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| There is no God, there is no love
|
| Stripped to the marrow,
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| Their empty platitudes can’t
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| Clothe them, feed them, heal them
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| They shuck them off like a thin, useless skin
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| That they’ve outgrown when hunger calls
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| How long must my journey go?
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| And my sorrow no one know? |