| I’ve got a question for the hands who rule the world
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| Is your ambition, to watch it burn?
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| Why, when you hold us all
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| would you choose to decide
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| to let our grandeur fall, to ruin and demise
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| Bury me under a mountain of a beautiful things
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| Consume debris, glorious waste; |
| ash in my mouth
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| We try to pay debts with our blood
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| buying a life gladly sold to us all.
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| Paper made to enslave, aimed to shatter our light
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| We’re designed to defray, collateral closure
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| We sow simple seeds planted deep meant to nourish our thirst
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| We must tend to the weeds, who’ve spread through our garden.
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| Why is the blood so cold, like splintered frozen ice?
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| Sat atop gold thrones to observe death
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| Claw out existence from the rubble and the mire.
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| See our backs grow strong, our hearts ache with desire
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| Bury me under a mountain of a beautiful things
|
| Consume debris, glorious waste; |
| ash in my mouth
|
| We try to pay debts with our blood
|
| buying a life gladly sold to us all.
|
| Paper made to enslave, aimed to shatter our light
|
| We’re designed to defray, collateral closure
|
| We sow simple seeds planted deep meant to nourish our thirst
|
| We must tend to the weeds, who’ve spread through our garden.
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| We’re owned, wings cut off of such poor and unfortunate souls
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| Controlled by objectification of material
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| Bury me under a mountain of beautiful things
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| Consume debris, glorious waste; |
| ash in my mouth
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| Cherishing all that you want while wasting what you need
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| in slavery a least breath is free
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| It’s ash in my mouth |