Made of stone, I move slow.
These wounds cut deep but I bleed what I know onto me.
All those rush their hands over me and I feel their thoughts.
Here's the chance, a chance to change.
What distances these are left to go.
But we will make it home.
On this road made of gold there is a Face for us.
Fear has this heart beating of blood, of one.
I emerge through the cracks, out of my seed.
Paying the toll for each breath that I take, I'm giving into distances.
I can't go home yet. There is still time left to save.
My heart,
Made of flesh, I grow fast.
But I will die a giving man.
I will die a loving man.
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