| I am spent and with death you paid my ransom
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| For the witness of your word
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| To bring them in, the jackal’s sin
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| Oh, the eyes of death are upon me
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| And the watchman takes his toll
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| If the river will run dry it will never take us home
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| With idle minds we grew unconscious as the hunter stalks his prey
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| His eyes, his eyes are locked on me
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| You cover the darkest part of me
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| With a look that’s sure to set the captives free
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| Oh, make way for I am not the redeemer
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| Nor do the mountains fall in my name
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| But with slightest cry, my hunter
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| You will fail to reach your prey
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| Still with idle minds unconscious
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| As the hunter stalks his prey
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| His eyes, his eyes are locked on me
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| You cover the darkest part of me
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| With a look that’s sure to set the captives free
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| With love that the blindest eyes will see
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| You cover the darkest part of me
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| As I am met with travesty
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| And I am broken and I am empty
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| And through it all I can see your face
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| With words unspoken I hear your voice
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| I see the hand, the hand that writes it all
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| You’ve called the wind to show its worth
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| You’ve called the sun to brag about its warmth
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| Because you are the writer
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| Because you are the soul of the world
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| You cover the darkest part of me
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| With a look that’s sure to set the captives free
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| With love that the blindest eyes will see
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| You cover the darkest part of me
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| Because you are the writer
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| Because you are the writer |