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Verse One - Pressure. In life, we struggle as individuals,. A fine line between a clich saying and something original,. As if in death we left something residual,. Behind to mark our time up in th
hilltop. In that bright land where we'll never grow old. And some day yonder, we will never more wander. But walk on streets that are pure as gold Don't think me poor or deserted or lonely. I'm not