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When the clock strikes twelve and it's all been done
Heavy lies the weight on the shoulders of the chosen one.
One more night on the run
Then I'll carry my cross for hours, days, weeks, months.
And I'll die like a martyr.
I walk. I walk. I walk. Alone.
I have borne witness. I know the way. But I will be buried under this weight.
When the bottle runs dry and the devil escapes I will be buried under this weight.
