I can dead sense that when we look around
This is going to be less than easy
I can slow sense when we are falling in
Then when we can start demanding
Now we are the only ones around
That we know of now
Or do we just walk the golden mile
With our heads held high?
Gently, forward on empty
March in a straight line
In our confined minds
Gently, forward on empty
March in a straight line
In our confined minds
Then we are walking the ghost mile
To war
Then we are walking the long stretch home
Then we are sinking the first mile
To war
Then we are drowning the norm
This is the death of me
This is the death of me
This is the death of me
This is the constant
Gently, oh, gently
Gently, forward on empty
March in a straight line
In our confined minds
Gently, forward on empty
March in a straight line
In our confined minds
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