| We blanket ourselves.
|
| In meditation and retrospect, we find
|
| our framework and spirit torn asunder.
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| Just look, for we’ve produced the best corpse.
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| Self interested or too weak with remorse?
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| We often take our hearts and hands to violence.
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| And stoic faces that don’t reflect a thing.
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| From memory our hope won’t fly with broken wings.
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| «You only breathe when you’re ordered to.
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| Any time now we’ll begin and you won’t feel a thing.
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| You know we’ve been waiting for this.
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| So offer up the warmth within
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| and you won’t feel a thing»
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| We cut off our heads in condemnation
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| that lends itself to hateful patterns.
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| Our spirits torn asunder in every way.
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| Produce the corpse.
|
| Self interested or too weak with remorse?
|
| We often take our hearts and hands to violence.
|
| And stoic faces that don’t reflect a thing.
|
| From memory our hopes won’t fly on broken angels wings
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| Hope won’t live to sing again.
|
| «You only breathe when you’re ordered to.
|
| Any time now we’ll begin and you won’t feel a thing.
|
| You know we’ve been waiting for this.
|
| So offer up the warmth within
|
| and you won’t feel a thing»
|
| We blanket ourselves from understanding.
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| We cut off our heads to see the light
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| We all live separate ways.
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| We all live separate ways.
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| We’re on our hands and knees.
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| We’re on our hands and knees.
|
| «You only breathe when you’re ordered to.
|
| Any time now we’ll begin and you won’t feel a thing.
|
| You know we’ve been waiting for this.
|
| So offer up the warmth within
|
| and you won’t feel a thing»
|
| They are just bleeding our corpses
|
| but then in time we’ll arise. |
| Till then
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| we are just living in torment.
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| When will the grip on us loosen? |