| Like a spent gladiator
|
| Crawling in the Colosseum dust
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| Who can count on his remaining limbs
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| All the people he can trust
|
| Like the one who stands behind him
|
| Cheering him on
|
| Ecstatic when he stands defiant
|
| Wild with abandon when he’s gone
|
| Just stay alive
|
| Keep your eyes on the pay line
|
| Like a village on the steppe
|
| About to get collectivized
|
| When the men emerge with rifles from the haystack
|
| Everybody looks surprised
|
| Like the mice in the forgotten grain
|
| Way up on the top shelf
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| Like someone who’s found a small town to escape to
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| Keeps one eye on his abandoned, former self
|
| Stay in the game
|
| Just try to play through the pain
|
| Like a fighter who’s been told it’s finally time for him to quit
|
| Show up in shining colours
|
| And then stand there and get hit
|
| Like the clock that ticks in Dresden
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| When the whole town’s been destroyed
|
| Like the nagging flash of insight
|
| You’re always desperate to avoid
|
| Like the bloody-knuckled gunman
|
| Still stationed at the breach
|
| Like that board game with the sliders
|
| And the children on the beach
|
| Stay alive
|
| Maybe spit blood at the camera
|
| Just stay alive
|
| Stay forever alive |