| Yesterday’s wars stack up like old papers on the floor
|
| Pounding like old knocks upon my door
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| Breaking like the ocean, washing through my hands
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| Changing this old mountain into sand
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| You know me by the stories I have made
|
| You know me by looking out through boxes and cages
|
| And it’s hard to clearly see what’s right in ordinary light
|
| Does the truth filter down through the ages
|
| We cannot see the end so here we must begin
|
| Tell me, what will we write on these pages?
|
| Life’s open road, showing only what it wants to show
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| Callin' when it’s time for us to go
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| Driven by emotion, pushing from the past
|
| Runnin' till our spirit’s free at least
|
| You know me by the stories I have made
|
| You know me by looking out through boxes and cages
|
| And it’s hard to clearly see what’s right in ordinary light
|
| Does the truth filter down through the ages
|
| We cannot see the end so here we must begin
|
| Tell me, what will we write on these pages?
|
| Down through history we race across
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| Borders into empty space we write
|
| A chapter of fable, a line, a trace
|
| Another heart may follow
|
| You know me by the stories I have made
|
| You know me by looking out through boxes and cages
|
| And it’s hard to clearly see what’s right in ordinary light
|
| Does the truth filter down through the ages
|
| We cannot see the end so here we must begin
|
| Tell me, what will we write on these pages?
|
| We cannot see the end, so here we must begin
|
| Tell me, what will we write on these pages? |