| When there is eventually silence
|
| The suspense is breathing as echoes in the walls
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| It seems it’s time to break
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| My footsteps seems to be a red thread of apathy
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| Been following me ever since
|
| Under the illusion of a body armor
|
| There is marks from everyday
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| The distance to the madness undresses the mind
|
| Force me to see what my mind
|
| Force me to see what I shut off
|
| And I can’t seem to turn of my mind
|
| And I can’t seem to turn of my mind
|
| And I can’t seem to turn of my mind
|
| When there is eventually silence
|
| The surface gets hit by frequently portions of rage
|
| It seems we’re not familiar
|
| I fear I’ll be wiped out by a big burst of accumulation
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| When I least expect it
|
| My fear is a lasting drizzle of rage
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| Eroding what’s left with no turning back
|
| The distance to the madness undresses the mind
|
| Force me to see what my mind
|
| Force me to see what I shut off
|
| And I can’t seem to turn of my mind
|
| And I can’t seem to turn of my mind
|
| There was no sign of an increasing heart rate
|
| So to show my human trait it had to rise eventually
|
| It feels unnecessary now
|
| Now, now when it’s all over |