Porcupine Tree - Mute | Текст песни

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• Porcupine Tree
• Mute

Mutes lie choking in the green fields of England, (-inaudible word-).
Scorching their own inheritance,
burning in a hand-me-down Hiroshima,
A man-made prison called progress.
And who's going to profit
when the dome breaks (-free?-),
when the railways of death burn the people,
and when the watch has stopped for good?

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