Soul covered in dust
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Spoiled walls transpire
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The voice of the mould
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Of life chained
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I sleep on the coils
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Dusted places soaked
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Fragments of lived life
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(and) Of a Lost smile
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Floating away
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The twisted coils around me
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Is it too far for me
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for my unsold soul?
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How can you say that it doesn't matter
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when everything around has starded to shatter?
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Waiting over accomplishments
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I need and I want to try
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all the pleasure and the pain
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coming back again
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Single Handed (The Days Of The Trumpet Call)
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Room With A View |