In his arms, locked in that iron grip nothing will reveal
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Follow these footsteps and we will reach the bottom
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I tumbled down the road that bears his name
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Here he dwells, here he prospers and pushes us towards the end
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When we are drifting against the tide
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Colliding with the very air we breathe
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Somewhere the tracks inwards must lead out
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A grasp of hope that defeats the will
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Always pushed away
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Always nothing
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-----------------
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Adrift
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Cult Of Luna |