| Born under kings and their slave holder sons,
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| held down by the hand that answers to none.
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| Grip to reality, see with your eyes.
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| Never mind my disgust, you must realize.
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| Dig.
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| Sealed so tight in this coffin I call life,
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| surrounded by the jackels,
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| I dare not close my eyes.
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| Born with this chip that’s sewn to my shoulder,
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| cuts get deeper and I only grow colder.
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| Hanging from my neck,
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| I begin to recall the face of the jackel as it swallows me whole.
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| Ripping the flesh from my bones.
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| My purpose in life is to feed them all.
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| Trapped in this coffin,
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| I swing into the night. |