| so strange i remember you in protest of a prayer
|
| and falling back from seas we fear to sail
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| i swear i saw the shooter, gold deep and double dare
|
| postmortem warnings seem inclined to fail
|
| feigning an apology
|
| those words they never left your lips
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| those 5 years in Bermuda slide by like the lights of passing ships
|
| so strange that i remember you
|
| kneeling deep in Nietzsche’s lies
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| my throat was an open grave i drank your stained glass eyes
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| and they taste like dead cathedrals
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| that are crumbling beneath a weight ten thousand jaded tourists
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| who’ve traded in their hearts and hands for
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| disposable cameras, set to document decay
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| set to capture just enough of life to catalogue the things we throw away
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| (breathing the fumes of our machines)
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| we’ve lost our way
|
| (breathing through television dreams)
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| if we could only see us now
|
| if we could only see us now
|
| the words of the dead ring in our ears
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| but its only a lie
|
| the voice in your head brings you to tears
|
| but you don’t know why
|
| the words of the dead in our ears
|
| but its only a lie
|
| the voice in your head brings you tears
|
| but its only a lie
|
| yes its only a lie
|
| isn’t it? |