| Cold was the day that they came for you
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| The November sky was a hue
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| Of a lens we often look through
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| Two riders drive to the edge of the field
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| Where they played with what they thought was real
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| Waving of pistols pointing at you
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| This silence is violent
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| This silence is violent
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| No chance to explain, no chance to say
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| The reason your body would break
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| And paint the snow bright red
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| Oh what a horror, the empty arms
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| Of a mother’s heart that still burns
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| To hold her boy once again
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| This silence is violent
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| This silence is violent
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| I pulled the trigger and I held the gun
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| The smoking barrel of indifference
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| I pulled the trigger and I held the gun
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| When I’m silent it’s violent
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| When I’m silent it’s violent
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| When I’m silent it’s violent
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| When I’m silent, it’s just as violent
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| When I’m silent it’s violent
|
| When I’m silent, it’s just as violent
|
| When I’m silent it’s violent
|
| When I’m silent, it’s just as violent |