Through wires and waves, our voices carry.
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Such careful words that we can barely speak out loud.
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We found an ocean when we needed land.
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We drowned in words when we needed a hand.
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So we plead for night, and the sun keeps on spilling light.
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There's a fine line, a fine line in between
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Our progress and our instability.
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We can't help ourselves but hunt for more.
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A design flaw? or the olive branch that proves the shore-
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The catalyst we've waited for.
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We live and die under the thumb of fear,
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As though the finish line will merely disappear
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If we take one less step, even to catch our breath.
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We once felt safe, like no cure was needed.
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Our vocabularies had no room for a¢æ©«defeated,a¢æ?
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But we grew up quick and became connoisseurs of it.
|
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There's a fine line, a fine line in between
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Our progress and our instability.
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We can't help ourselves but hunt for more.
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A design flaw? or the olive branch that proves the shore-
|
The catalyst we've waited for.
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-----------------
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The Sea Of Atlas
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Sleeping At Last |