| The past is prologue
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| As I descend into the deep
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| The honest fraud, claws at the back of my teeth
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| A wise man once said, «What is great in man, is he’s a bridge and not an end»
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| How weary I am Of my good, and my bad
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| If God is dead, can we still find some meaning in this?
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| We are more than an empty pattern, ripe with shame and decay
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| The Valley of the Sleepers, are drinking from a polluted stream
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| We are more than an empty pattern
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| We are more than shame and decay
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| Is the sky or the ground your captor?
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| Do you contemplate your destiny?
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| Is the sky or the ground the place that you’re meant to be?
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| And if your heads in the clouds, what good could you be to me?
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| We are awake
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| These words, they won’t fade away
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| They won’t fade away
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| A clock without a craftsman
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| Hands spinning infinitely
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| Our gears will never grind to a halt or corrode away
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| We are more than an empty vessel walking a path of concrete
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| Let us work to create a flow state unhindered by the chains of belief
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| Morals are in the eyes of the beholder
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| Ground culture dictates every move you make
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| Every step you take their apparitions will beckon you
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| Don’t follow suit
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| Wisdom exists in every truth they give
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| But in every lie there is a motive
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| Is the sky or the ground the place that you’re meant to be?
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| And if your heads in the clouds, what good could you be to me?
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| We are awake
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| These words, they won’t fade away
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| They won’t fade away
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| Unlearn to obey
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| A once calm pond is now a raging river
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| Shaping landscapes beyond
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| Forever changing seasons
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| In the years to come we hope to find a pattern
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| We can learn to love (We can learn to love) |