| Lustrous lines obscured by opaque blinds
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| Frozen metacarpals tap, tap, tap, the window glass
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| Syncopated staccatos with the broken clock
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| Synchronized with my post-traumatic ticks, ticks
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| Talking to the space in the room that echoes back indiscernibly
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| To my disconnected self, self
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| It’s self-consuming, what’s ensuing is my undoing
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| The nightly casualty of war
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| And it sounds like this, war, endless war
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| In my endless dance with entropy
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| I must rescind my sentience, the sickness that I know
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| Rearrange the disarray of disintegrated senses
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| Puzzle pieces, spectral splinters of a soldier’s worn and tattered soul
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| In my endless dance with entropy
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| I must rescind my sentience, the sickness that I know
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| Machines of air looking down on us
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| The beasts of dust as we grapple heel and hand
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| Mud and sand, blood red oil
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| The chaff of the harvest
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| Converted to currencies of wealthy means
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| Stepping stones cut from our perforated bones
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| Riches are reaped beside our bodies
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| Sown just to be thrown back again
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| And forgotten if we stumble in
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| Laid inside a homeless nest
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| Stuck with eager dirty needles
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| Shipped to an early steeple where boxes close
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| Descend with grace as you defend yourself
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| Both charitable and chaste
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| Praise me for my valor, lay me on a crimson tower
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| Justify my endless terror as my «finest hour»
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| Treat me as a token to deceive the child
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| Whom we fatten for this scapegoat slaughter
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| I learned to fight, I learned to kill, I learned to steal
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| I learned that none of this is real
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| None of this is real, none of this is real, none of this is real
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| But there’s a war inside my head
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| Beleaguered by my breathing, choking, screaming, heaving
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| Time drags me back to the desert (This is war)
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| A child stumbles from the wreckage holding his salvation
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| The trigger to cessation (To end us all)
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| I took a life that takes mine
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| Every quiet moment we collapse
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| Have you forsaken us? |
| All the darkness comes alive
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| Take my hand, drag me to the void |