| the science, the left hand — the cynic of my soul
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| a safe grip, a smooth path — the ground on which, i roam.
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| the right hand, a splendour — am i a man of god?
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| segregated from the hopeless common thought.
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| we venture through nature, oblivion and awe.
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| drowning in the fear that we can’t escape this shore.
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| if we can’t live together then we will die alone.
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| separated from our only form of hope.
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| i wake unscathed and breathing. |
| my whereabouts unknown.
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| you bore such misery. |
| then you gave it all to me. |
| what is your next bequest?
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| your vision’s off, your misled delusions. |
| (why am i not surprised)
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| and soon you’ll see we’re not the enemy.
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| lavish in these words you may not understand.
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| who could’ve predicted that this would be our bitter end.
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| miracle occurred — the chance is sickly thin,
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| between the bruises and contusions that rest on our skin.
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| we cleared the ocean deep, thrown downward from the sky,
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| but the sensation of a pull encourages the 'why?'.
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| the walls are ripped apart, the fumes have met the flames,
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| and the resistance of the flooding wind keeps them at bay.
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| i hear caucophany a clamour of a fear,
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| a fear that wracks somebody’s every nerve beyond a tear.
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| the turbulence is fierce, as it exacerbates,
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| and i begin to witness everything about my fate.
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| as all my senses fade, despite my own protest,
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| the tunnel vision in the corner of my eye defects.
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| my fingertips are numb. |
| i cannot hear the blight,
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| and with this atrophy is blinding absence of light.
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| have i lost you in a world of danger? |
| have you forgotten me?
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| am i a stranger in a strange land calling for a reason?
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| longing, forgiven — taking my last stand.
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| your vision’s off, your misled delusions. |
| (why am i not surprised)
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| and soon you’ll see we’re not the enemy.
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| break my fall, or risk it all.
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| i can see your ulterior motives,
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| breaking down the walls.
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| i can see the goodness feed you,
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| as the darkness envelops me.
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| i have no way of changing this trajectory |