Away from this life back to the swamp trampling the burning ashes
of my shattered dreams underfoot may be facing at last with all
my certainties which have been burnt on the altar of self
confidence there's no pupil in the eye of the stillborn prophet
back to the swamp falling back to the swamp since now certainties
have to belong to my fears nothing is safe definition's dead as
stillborn prophet I could hope but hope doesn't fit the facts.
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