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The ability to see makes me wonder |
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Whether there is a hole in the ground |
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Or in my mind |
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Like the hole inside my heart |
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It swallows anything which comes close |
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If we dare to look down |
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Something lives inside this hole |
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And it screams from time to time |
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Then it pulls me down |
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Into the absence of all sense |
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Asking all the questions ever asked |
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But it listens only to itself |
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So, I had to appear in a mirror |
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To the questions asked by no one |
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For the very first time this gave light |
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Into the darkness of the soul |
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Shattered dreams are the pillows |
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For the hurt one who lives inside this hole |
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And he screams from time to time |
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For the absence of sense - like in this rhyme |
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Which is a shrine for all the ones who see |
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The hole in his heart |
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Is the hole in the ground |
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Which was never there 'cause it ate itself |
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Within the answers always asked |
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It never dared to be |
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So it screams from time to time |