| This flesh holds me captive and in quest of liberation…
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| As the sheep flock in the dissonance, I tread in dissent
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| To the piercing light that sears our hearts;
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| To the sickness that plagues our spirits…
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| I cannot revere in this blind acceptance and falter in my comprehension
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| Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!
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| Heal this restless spirit — that bestowed naught
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| Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate — I consign!
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| Heal my heart, my weeping soul…
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| I consign this putrid flesh
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| Nothing here, nobody there…
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| Erroneous illness shouting
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| The outcry reviles this tattered soil…
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| Drowning the world in filth and distortion
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| Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!
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| Heal this restless spirit — that bestowed naught
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| Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate — I consign!
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| Heal my heart, my weeping soul…
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| I consign this putrid flesh
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| I’ll leave my conscience to die
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| A barrenness of dreams and anticipation;
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| Life and hope shrivel into the void
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| Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate — I consign!
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| Heal my heart, my weeping soul…
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| I consign this putrid flesh
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| In this pantheon of sorrow
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| We are everything, yet nothing!
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| And as long we’re breathing
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| The burden devoid of conclusion!
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| Unaided I slither — ravaged, silent and alone
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| I smoulder in anxious strife; |
| I decline these exhausted remnants of decay
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| The world is coming to an end; |
| a vast ocean of disease…
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| All hope is lost… or perhaps this is the cradle of salvation
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| I must tranquil these turbulent waters
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| No more expressions shall leave my trait…
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| No further words shall be spoken
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| This illness they conceived broke my tired wings |