It¡¯s when I¡¯m not looking
|
That I must fleet these blows
|
Like one arms afire,
|
But the others not hitting home
|
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You could say that it¡¯s up to fate
|
That there¡¯s forces that move to our design
|
But I feign to leave it up to fate
|
In what others have made
|
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It¡¯s not right,
|
But no one cares anymore.
|
It is the least of our worries now
|
I can¡¯t trust anything,
|
Least of all these hands I gave my self
|
I can¡¯t keep my gloves up
|
The knockouts only inches away
|
Already I¡¯m out and over
|
And pulled down by these waves
|
|
I¡¯ve got right now
|
Witless and white knuckled,
|
I¡¯ve got right now.
|
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-----------------
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Witless And White Knuckled
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| A Faith Called Chaos |