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Distant, cold and pure

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We've pulled away from each other:
Paris is miles away from Lille
And all the distance clouds your will
From my eyes. Now all I hear is whuthers

And all I see is carnage. What treason
Has gnawed thoroughly from within
Once faultless heart? What whims
Have brought you, against reason,

To onslaught of our fellow men?
Now I will see no sense, you're right,
And I won't grasp your thoughts tonight
And I will further pull away, lest

The madness that have turned your head
Contaminates the faith I have.