| As the sands of time fills the hourglass
|
| The lines weighing on our face as the days pass
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| Panic setting in, our mortality
|
| A picture-perfect reminiscence of what used to be
|
| Like a car crash, like a car crash
|
| The coiled serpent seared away by the sun
|
| Like a car crash, like a car crash
|
| A dead-eyed vision of what could have been done
|
| Bloodshot restless nights, wings now clipped with age
|
| The ghost of promise echoes louder at this tired stage
|
| The teething of regret, clamps at wasted years
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| Imperative of shedding skin infused with future fears
|
| Like a car crash, like a car crash
|
| The coiled serpent seared away by the sun
|
| Like a car crash, like a car crash
|
| A dead-eyed vision of what could have been done
|
| The paint dries quicker in a blurry shattered state
|
| Waiting impatient for the end
|
| For the scythe swings closer while pray for the cull
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| The grains slipping quick beneath the bends
|
| It was all a waste, our presence in this place
|
| We claw and writhe into the fire
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| Oh the burdens of our youth
|
| Only longed for now deceased
|
| The former flower dries and wilts with stale desire
|
| It was all a waste, our presence in this place
|
| It was all a waste, our presence in this place
|
| It was all a waste, our presence in this place |