| Within these walls I am confined
|
| Thrust over our eyes solely to blind
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| Is it trespassing when we feel at home?
|
| Amongst the truth which remains untold?
|
| Who is the arbiter in this
|
| Travesty you choose to dismiss?
|
| You have people running for their lives
|
| The hatred you feed contrives…
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| Everybody and their lives
|
| When we tread on through
|
| Fields of green, lakes of crystal
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| Motion turmoil of umber and life.
|
| When we tread on through
|
| Fields of green, lakes of crystal
|
| Motion turmoil of umber and life
|
| When we tread on through
|
| Fields of green, lakes of crystal
|
| Motion turmoil of umber and life.
|
| With our doubt still intact
|
| Curious of new discoveries which you’ve left unproven.
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| It keeps me up at night. |
| A fault or flaw, I slight.
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| Am I the casualty of my own circumstance?
|
| Such is life.
|
| You’ll be soon to see
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| Yet to suffer an epiphany.
|
| Such is life
|
| You’ll be soon to see
|
| Yet to suffer an epiphany.
|
| I see my purpose now.
|
| To reproduce somehow.
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| Lobotomise myself
|
| Break the boy my mother spat out.
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| I’m not a patron saint.
|
| Never something so quaint.
|
| You’re not a god to man but to the robots you forsake.
|
| I see my purpose now.
|
| To reproduce somehow.
|
| Lobotomise myself
|
| Break the boy my mother spat out.
|
| I’m not a parton saint.
|
| Never something so quaint.
|
| You’re not a god to man but to the robots you forsake. |