The obsession for perfection never did find that the reason
So even if made to flow like a wind that blows in the chorus
Regretting that the guilt in my not be found in the heart
So even if made to flow like a wind that blows in the chorus
Regretting that the guilt in my not be found in the heart
That flame that lit the passage of blood through my veins
Releasing a sense of suffering, citing an eavesdropper
So until the end, it will be a door to every feeling
Open all the doors, do flow like the wind that blows in the chorus.
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