| Born perfect
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| Perched a top a spire
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| Nestled in the bosom of creation
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| Wounded once, never again
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| I’m building a cult around your figure
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| The saints, wanting
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| the idols present, the idols presence, the idols present
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| Rituals dance just out of reach
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| Just as any good conduit should dance, just out of reach
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| 10,000 weary and wanted
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| Exhale the dust, folded into my boot heels
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| And on and on they, to forever
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| Little arms to heaven grasp me
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| Eyes of milk and endless waters
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| Breath, oh I will always breath
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| And know that I have found you
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| Breathe, you women of circumstance
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| And know that we are intertwined
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| She rises, even now to the summit
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| She bows to cradle and swoop in
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| We are balanced on one finger
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| And we are softly
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| We are softly sung to sleep |