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6. We Are The Dead |
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Ghosts presence, ghost music in the radio at night, |
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when you can't sleep, in the line of shadows |
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around the glowing red eye. |
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Voices that talk and talk towards nothing, |
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so that nothing's hollow role shall not slide |
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in on the scene in the solitary theater. |
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And the voices laugh loud, so the candles flicker |
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and go out, without noticing how dark it becomes. |
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And he who records the voices of the spirits |
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of the dead. On the tape filled with buzz and |
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cosmic noise you can hear their remote voices |
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form German words; they say: Wir sind die Toten, |
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which is true, whoever they might be. |
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The total inaccessibility of silence, it shines in the |
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wallmirror when you've left, and disappears |
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when you return. No silence in death's silence. |