Eleven thousand degrees burning on our heads.
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Can you take the heat or do you clench your fist to the sky?
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Where to run when the rays destroy
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and where to run when the wells are dry?
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We are only satisfied when the rain is pouring.
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We can only sleep when the moist is nourishing.
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The sun has spoiled our land, turned the wine to vinegar.
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The roots are rotting and the leafs are falling.
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Artificial culture saved our land, force-fed by human hands.
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Exhausting forces cannot resist the ongoing destruction of the planet.
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Drained illusions, endangered species,
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the screams never reach the surface.
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God cries divine tears, wheeping from these human fears.
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The water is finally pouring down,
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the solution in which we all drown.
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No more land to waste, no more tears to choke.
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An iccold breath meant the planet's death.
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In the end, we're running naked to the frost...
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Angry With The Sun
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Congress |