| My lord knows that I’ve been sinking.
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| The sanctuary’s skin has finally been lifted.
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| The symphony has grown silent with distaste
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| from the grime its sound produces and its elegance in waste.
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| I’ve grown blind to my eyelids they are the my guardians of naught.
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| The sight my innards seek to dispatch is the very reason I am wrong.
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| Call upon the almighty one for He is the only one who saves.
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| Call upon the almighty one, protector of the graves.
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| All you’ve said is now forsaken.
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| What you’ve come to believe is forsaken.
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| As the wretches of this pit of heart cry we will all know what is indeed
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| Forsaken.
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| Restless in a mess of contagion strains and mismatched thought,
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| lay the silent eyes of black heart nights eternally searching for missing parts.
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| The tunnels lights are dim without fractions of time to think for second
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| thoughts.
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| Sink or rise there is no swim.
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| You live, you rise, you drink, you die.
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| The sky emerged with the black of dusk and the scent of angels left us dust
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| with aromas filled of conspired trust,
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| as he could turn away from God.
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| The words unspoken fill syringes with not blood but black eclipses
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| of our hearts not sanctified
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| and in the image of our faith denied,
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| beseech of the Lord and beg for sight.
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| Can you show me what it’s like to be alive?
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| Tear it from the chest all the conflicting inflictions while it settles in the
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| head, parasitic-like thoughts.
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| This flawless design can never be duplicated
|
| when the cycles of the earth fold the world infinite with signs.
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| Let the truth be the prey of the faith-stricken cold
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| and when the core is warmed up ask for the path from the lord.
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| Can you show me what it’s like to be alive?
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| As we shed the pretense and the dawn has stained itself a place in mind,
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| the search is unending until we finally find.
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| Our creator.
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| Our sustainer.
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| In whom we always seek refuge.
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| Our Guardian.
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| Can you show me what it’s like to be alive? |