| If I stand tall up on this platform
|
| And I scream out my lungs
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| If I can reach anyone in any place
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| Does that mean my work is done?
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| If I can find something worth dying for
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| Or feel like dying from what I’ve become
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| Will I finally find contentment?
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| Will that mean anything at all?
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| There’s a wear seen in my eyes
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| And a strain growing in my throat
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| And on my feat I am growing calluses
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| From trying to figure out what I’m here for
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| But if these songs can make the masses sing
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| Then I’ll engrave down with blood for ink
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| That I am unsure of everything
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| In this culture of divinity
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| I’m swallowing down whole
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| Everything that I can hold
|
| And I’m taking in these rhythms
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| 'till my ears fucking explode
|
| Can we just stop these talks of letting go
|
| Let’s feel like there’s no place else
|
| That matters in the world
|
| I’ve fought fought fought only to realize
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| That it’s not so trivial what we decide to do
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| So long as we’re doing, we’re doing
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| Another «what the fuck» what you expect
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| Life is not the same as the screen
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| So I scream
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| «the only thing that still feels real to me
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| Are my uncertainties and the air I breathe»
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| Let’s feel like there’s no place else
|
| That matters in the world
|
| I’m swallowing down whole
|
| Everything that I can hold
|
| And I’m taking in these rhythms
|
| 'till my ears fucking explode
|
| Can we just stop these talks of letting go
|
| Let’s feel like there’s no place else
|
| That matters in the world |