| By the light of common day
|
| Things look different
|
| Than they did in the starlit dark
|
| The dark was warm and clouded
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| It was easy to deceive yourself
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| And those around you in the work
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| To say the craziness and pain
|
| The spreading of the stain
|
| Is exactly where you gain the spark to make it
|
| As if being happy isn’t quite enough
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| Somehow I needed to make it rough
|
| Rough enough to break it
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| To make those long connections
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| And run in wrong directions
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| Till I break it loose
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| I was wrong of course, I see now
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| The spark is there all the time
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| If you know how
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| To listen to your calling
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| The muse is quietly knocking
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| On your door right now
|
| To say the craziness and pain
|
| The spreading of the stain
|
| Is exactly where you gain the spark to make it
|
| As if being happy isn’t quite enough
|
| Somehow I needed to make it rough
|
| Rough enough to break it
|
| Rough enough to break it
|
| You have to go faithfully each day
|
| And open up your head some way, somehow
|
| And what will come in answer
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| Some strong and gentle dancer
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| Will carry a song, through your door
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| Some great lifting force of light
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| Will come to balance fearful night
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| Raise its voice and then raise yours
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| Raise its voice and then raise yours
|
| Raise its voice and then raise yours
|
| You have to go faithfully each day
|
| And open up your head some way, somehow |