Transform

A hot and humid Sunday Faces, faces everywhere Then a face, I remember my face years ago Such fear This is my day Oh, and I can dream above the buried cry Because I've got something better And it might just be my own, for good Many psychic scars in just his short few years In the noise of his silence, he ran away from the violence To heal This is my day, and I can see the wreckage in my head Although it's not the same, because I transform the pain, for good I transform the pain, for good

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