Gut level, below it all.
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Out of duty - just here.
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Feeling like a knife's being twisted
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in the hole of how it is.
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False hope, an inch of pride
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That died when I left to hide from non
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stop battering
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Of conditioned opinion.
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Rest assured but not assured,
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All is well,
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But I think we've dealt with the fear
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For far too long.
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Unborn suffer the norm.
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Born to this-I think not!
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I stand against till the shit drops.
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We see all but do nothing,
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In the hole of "How it is"
|
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-----------------
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Twist The Knife (Slowly)
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Napalm Death |