| Shamed by the weak and cast down in disgust
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| A shell of a broken man without trust
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| Preaching upon open ears of the deaf
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| Depraved words uttered beneath your cold breathe
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| Killing what’s left of the embers of youth
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| Scraping and clawing for a whisper of truth
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| Sewing our mouths shut as nothing escapes
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| Love and grave is a display of a man you once were
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| But unlike the hand of Midas
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| What you touch with turn to shit
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| Blood will flow between us
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| And the ground will shake until you repent your sins
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| The touch of cold skin and the embrace of life
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| In darkness dwells secrets in a holy disguise
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| Nothing will soothe you, old hands will turn numb
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| Silence will not speak
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| But unlike the hand of Midas
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| What you touch will turn to shit
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| Burn this fucking saviour
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| Until you see the damage you cause
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| Faces mean nothing when nothing is left
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| Lust will now turn you from reason to rape
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| Falling from grace is the beckoning sin
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| Sharing the pain is a means to an end
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| Is this your saving grace
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| Just leave our sins to pass away |