| High on the cliff overlooking the sea
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| Been walking an hour under this sky
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| See the gulls as they fly below
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| In winter these paths disappear under snow
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| Here I come and here I go
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| Is this a momentary golden ratio?
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| Oh, I could imagine that it was me
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| Yeah, I could imagine this could be me
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| Up on the down overlooking the sea
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| But something inside is pulling at me
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| It mocks this voice that’s speaking now
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| It slights this loud unworldy appeal
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| It strolls to the point where this morning ends
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| And makes an illusion of everything I feel
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| ‘What am I thinking this could be me?'
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| It says, ‘What am I thinking this could be me?'
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| I’m down in the lane now and I’m walking home
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| Let me walk to the beat of my own metronome
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| Yeah, let my fingers brush the gorse
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| Give me salt lips for a sea horse
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| I want no regrets and no remorse
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| I want to see life as its own resource
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| Because I’ve seen those birds as they wheel below
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| I’ve seen these paths under winter snow
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| Here I come, don’t let me go
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| I want a momentary golden, golden, golden ratio
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| Yeah, let me imagine that it is me
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| Because I truly imagined that it was me
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| I was flung open I was alive
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| I was flung open I was alive
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| Yes, it was me |