| I saw a hawk willing to fly under blackened skies
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| Holding against a storm that came and’s not turning back
|
| I heard a cry fading out in the thickest numbness
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| Warning all of us never to be swallowed up by the void.
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| Born in the dark age — with their fallen souls, fallen souls
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| It’s in the dark age… that we drift on our own
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| Will we ever spread our wings of gold over the landscape…
|
| And restore what’s lost.
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| Loners in packs, filling the streets, see through lifeless eyes,
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| Aching for coins, dullness resets with each passing sun…
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| Stumbling their way over bodies dead or dying…
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| Screwed to a routine that is able to squeeze the most of our souls.
|
| Born in the dark age — with their fallen souls, fallen souls
|
| It’s in the dark age… that we drift on our own
|
| Will we ever spread our wings of gold over the landscape…
|
| And restore what’s lost.
|
| I heard a cry fading out in the thickest numbness
|
| Warning all of us never to be swallowed up by the void.
|
| Born in the dark age — with their fallen souls, fallen souls
|
| It’s in the dark age… that we drift on our own
|
| Will we ever spread our wings of gold over the landscape…
|
| And restore what’s lost. |