| Don’t stay awake for the promise of repair
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| Your branches lie still like the broken verses you used to sing
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| Softly, too softly
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| Your whispers lined with thorns
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| Scraping across the delicate white of fearful eyes
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| As you stare into the distant grey
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| Those two words always seem to be the worst
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| Your hands release and fall into uncertainty
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| We were listening
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| Haunted by the endless change and it made my lungs hesitate
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| My eyes white like the broken verses you used to sing
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| Harmonised like the broken verses you used to sing
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| And it’s not going to change |