| «it's been four years now since she died.
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| I never wanted to marry her,
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| hell, I never even really loved her.
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| so why do I dream of her each night, and why do all these dreams end the same?»
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| life was rotten, not worth living
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| filled with empty days
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| until I started writing the dream
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| life I would life to lead
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| every night I close my eye
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| knowing what awaits me
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| all my words are come to life
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| I write the script for my dreams
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| waiting for the sun to set
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| for dreams to rise
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| from mists of written words
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| waiting for the night to come
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| the fate to my real life
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| the world seems truly different
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| when you look down at
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| your troubles from the sky
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| by the dreams I write
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| I am reborn every morning
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| and yet I long for more
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| for someone who once
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| shared my dreams with me
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| taken from my side when our life
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| had hardly just begun
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| waiting for the sun to set
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| for her to rise
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| from mists of written words
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| waiting for our special night
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| to feel her breath once more
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| my love, please breathe!
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| what good are dreams
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| if death cannot be fooled
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| pale! |
| so still
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| her cold hand next to mine…
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| locked! |
| inside! |
| cannot move
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| I cannot end this dream
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| that I have made
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| no dawn will ever come
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| waiting for the sun to set
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| day is far and hope is father still
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| waiting for the night to end
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| to break this curse
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| and close again her grave… |