This is a sermon for the vermon. A song to draw blood.
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A finger in the dam trying to hold back the flood. We are down, but we're still not out.
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We struggle with faith in the face of doubt.
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So is it a crime to think that we've found something more sublime?
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That we're somehow more alive?
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That we're not just busy dying?
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No coincidence, it's by design.
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Herded into a pen with the rest of the swine.
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Born to shine, or born to stand in line?
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You decide.
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So you better step up to bat, before your dreams get hammered flat. (This is the sound)
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Even when your ship has run aground.
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Don't let bastards get you down.
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We Will Not
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Paint It Black |