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There is no soul, life is what you make it,
My body's not some conduit,
It's a system in itself.

There's no soul, my brain is not some prison,
It's an ever-changing prism,
Through which I see the world.

I've come to my senses, I see what is real.
Through all my pretences, I finally feel.

When something evil takes a hold. A hold of you.
Oh don't you pretend it has control,
Of the things that you do.

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