| I dreamed I heard that you were dead
|
| I dreamed I searched an empty bed
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| For a sign of you
|
| And the sea called hard to me
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| Like a cell without a key
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| And I felt the distance
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| I watched the tall ships go
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| With the drift wood on the flow
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| With pride that grows in hardship
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| And I knew you were below
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| I hear your voice
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| And it keeps me from sleeping
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| Why must it always be dreams
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| When your voice comes to me
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| I dreamed you felt the typhoon spit
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| And walked into the heart of it
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| While the seagulls cry
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| I know how to feel that call
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| It never suited me at all
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| But some are born to it
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| And you seemed so bright and hard
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| Like a bloody edge of sword
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| But if you’re an enemy
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| Then you look a lot like me
|
| I hear your voice
|
| And it keeps me from sleeping
|
| Why must it always be dreams
|
| When your voice comes to me
|
| I dreamed you sailed me to the swamp
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| In a black boat
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| You spoke to me of things
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| Of the shame that years will bring
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| And I felt your hand shake
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| Though you always seemed so hard
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| Now I never see the sword
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| And I find the enemy
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| Has to feel the same as me
|
| I hear your voice
|
| And it keeps me from sleeping
|
| Why must it always be dreams
|
| When your voice comes to me |