I could stand here for hours
Just to ask God the question, "Is everyone here make-believe?"
With a tear in His voice, He said, "Son, that's the question."
Does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me?
Am I correct to defend the fist that holds this pen? It's ink that lies, the pen, the page, the paper I live, I learn you will always take what I have earned And so aid my end while I believe I'm winning
I could stand here for hours
Just to ask God the question, "Is everyone here make-believe?"
With a tear in His voice, He said, "Son, that's the question."
Does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me?
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