| There is a creak of furniture and woodworms
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| and as a sense of eternity
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| in a castle with turrets and battlements
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| which were new in antiquity
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| And a little healthy indifference
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| it's almost a necessity
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| even in the absence of metabolism
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| for those who live in the afterlife
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| Worse for me
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| better for you
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| I am present with my absence
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| but if you don't know why
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| worse for you and much better for me
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| And I think of you who think of me
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| thinking about the past
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| you who breathe and don't know it
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| that are in your breath
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| and you do not understand that it is not
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| your but my smile
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| that lights you up in the mirror
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| and if you really don't know it's there
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| worse for you and much better for me
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| And I'm here on the edge of the pond
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| what a glimmer of ambiguity
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| and I'm in water and yet I don't get wet
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| why it happens we do not know
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| and I repeat that indifference
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| it is not pleasure but necessity
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| in this time of perfectionism
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| is to choose freedom
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| Worse for me
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| better for you
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| there is a lack for every room
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| but if you don't know whose it is
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| worse for you and much better for me
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| And I think about you who don't know
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| or you don't want to know
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| and if you see me why
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| you don't show it
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| if I play to be with you
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| the powder on your face
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| and you paint a little of me
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| and if you really don't know why
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| worse for you and much better for me |