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Mutilated images It looks the same, feels the same Pointing at you again Can't help myself asking you how? Where is our path? It's not a phase It will come back again As soon as you forget What is your excuse? The mind is a lack of existence In time we'll heal all open wounds Still we'll remain the puppeteers Open up the doors, lock them up behind us Blended by the winter light as the worlds collide We'll feed the storm again Beauty stole my sight We'll fall into the same

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