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Our eyes have plans to undress this room and erase the clues, |
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With paper that reads like maps, and incriminates. |
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Run your course. (Can you hear the sirens singing?) |
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Singing you to shipwreck in this bed of sand? |
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Oh save us from these oaths like masts! |
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Hail the escape from shipwreck. |
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Fugitive: |
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From bitter judgment of the winds and water, |
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Holding refuge in waves closing in like bars, |
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Stand in capsized hope of this sinking cell. |
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For the torrent of sins wash you overboard. |
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That justice would set her scales and be a lack thereof; |
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She'd turn her blind eyes to our case and deaf ears to us. |
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Our minds have plans to digress into these ocean tombs. |
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How can we escape the tides of this fate? |
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Making our graves in this watery bed |
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What saving grace can we claim, while holding our hopes of mutiny? |
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Everybody's an escapist from all they have known. |
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For how can grace be given those that hold none of their own? |
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For what love holds for the weak, lies oceans apart from |
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What water holds for our dreams of a mutiny. |