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I stood alone upon the highest cliff-top, |
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looked down, around, and all that I could see |
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were those that I would dearly love to share with |
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crashing on quite blindly to the sea... |
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I tried to ask what game this was, |
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but knew I would not play it: |
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the voice, as one, as no-one, came to me... |
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'We have looked upon the heroes |
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and they are found wanting; |
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we have looked hard across the land, |
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but we can see no dawn; |
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we have now dared to sear the sky, |
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but we are still bleeding; |
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we are drawing near to the cliffs, |
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now we can hear the call. |
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The clouds are piled in mountain-shapes, |
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there is no escape except to go forward. |
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Don't ask us for an answer now, |
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it's far too late to bow to that convention. |
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What course is there left but to die? |
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We have looked upon the High Kings, |
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found them less than mortals: |
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their names are dust before the just |
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march of our young, new law. |
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Minds stumbling strong, we hurtle on |
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into the dark portal; |
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No-one can halt our final vault |
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into the unknown maw. |
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And as the Elders beat their brows |
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they know that it's really far |
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too late now to stop us. |
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For if the sky is seeded death |
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what is the point in catching breath? - Expel it. |
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What cause is there left but to die |
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in searching of something we're not quite sure of? |
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What cause is there left but to die? |
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... I really don't know why ... |
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I know our ends may be soon |
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but why do you make them sooner? |
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Time may finally prove |
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only the living move her and |
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no life lies in the quicksand. |
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Yes, I know it's |
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Out of control, out of control: |
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Greasy machinery slides on the rails, |
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Young minds and bodies on steel spokes impaled... |
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Cogs tearing bones, cogs tearing bones; |
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Iron-throated monsters are forcing the screams, |
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Mind and machinery box-press our dreams... |
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... but there still is time ... |
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Cowards are they who run today, |
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the fight is beginning... |
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no war with knives, fight with our lives, |
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lemmings can teach nothing; |
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death offers no hope, we must grope |
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for the unknown answer: |
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unite our blood, abate the flood, |
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avert the disaster... |
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There's other ways than screaming in the mob: |
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that makes us merely cogs of hatred. |
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Look to the why and where we are, |
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look to yourselves and the stars and in the end |
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What choice is there left but to live |
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in the hope of saving |
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our children's children's little ones? |
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What choice is there left but to live? |
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to save the little ones? |
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What choice is there left but to try? |