| If there’s a way to say I’m sorry
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| Perhaps I’ll stay another evening beside your door
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| And watch the moon rise inside your window
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| Where jewels are falling, and flowers weeping, and strangers laughing
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| Because you’re grieving that I have gone.
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| And if I don’t know why I’m going
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| Perhaps I’ll wait beside the pathway where no-one's coming
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| And count the questions I turned away from, or closed my eyes to
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| Or had no time for, or passed right over
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| Because the answers would shame my pride.
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| I’ve heard them say the word forever
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| But I don’t know if words have meaning when they are promised
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| In fear of losing what can’t be borrowed
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| Or lent in blindness, or blessed by pageantry, or sold by preachers
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| While you’re still walking your separate way.
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| Sometimes we bind ourselves together
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| And seldom know the harm in binding the only feeling that cries for freedom
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| And needs unfolding and understanding
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| And time for holding a simple mirror
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| With one reflection to call your own.
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| If there’s an end to all our dreaming
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| Perhaps I’ll go while you’re still standing beside your door
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| And I’ll remember your hands encircling a bowl of moonstones
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| A lamp of childhood, a robe of roses
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| Because your sorrows were still unborn. |