Buried because of progress and profit, face the facts, you can send the harlot for the job of a pilgrim.
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When we cast the script, we found it hard to tell either apart, enter the modern world.
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Take rest my love because the thief is blessed with sounding bells,
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the body count is all we got and I know that is hollow still.
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Midnight is growing deer.
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To sing of love or to sing of life is a lonely road but I walk in faith.
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Shake up the press, raise the flag,
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I have seen way too much to let my heart break.
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With the father's past, how can distances be great?
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This is for the Earth that slept too late.
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Bless the thief.
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Never I
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The Chariot |