| I look straight in the window, try not to look below
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| Pretend I’m not up here, try counting sheep
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| But the sheep seem to shower off this office tower
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| Nine-point-eight straight down I can’t stop my knees
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| I wish I could fly
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| From this building, from this wall
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| And if I should try
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| Would you catch me if I fall?
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| My hands clench the squeegee, my secular rosary
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| Hang on to your wallet, hang on to your rings
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| Can’t look below me, or something will throw me
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| I curse at the windstorms that October brings
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| I look in the boardroom; |
| a modern pharaoh’s tomb
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| I’d gladly swap places, if they care to dive
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| They’re lined up at the window, peer down into limbo
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| They’re frightened of jumping, in case they survive
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| I wish I could step from this scaffold
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| Onto soft green pastures, shopping malls, or bed
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| With my family and my pastor and my grandfather who’s dead
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| Look straight in the mirror, watch it come clearer
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| I look like a painter, behind all the grease
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| But paintings creating, and I’m just erasing
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| A crystal-clear canvas is my masterpiece
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| I wish I could fly
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| From this building, from this wall
|
| And if I should try
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| Would you catch me if I fall?
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| When I fall
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| When I fall
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| When I fall
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| When I fall |