| Wake up, my brother
|
| Lift your covers and see your breath
|
| Look out our window
|
| The sky looks hollow and dark as our own death
|
| Bones of our bodies, seeds of our tall trees
|
| And years all frayed
|
| Oh, what will I become, when the pale light brings a dawn
|
| When I can’t hear you say
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| «Brother, you don’t have to fight
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| So hard, it eats you up inside
|
| Breathe and feel the sun
|
| You can see it in the shallow tide
|
| You can see it in our mother’s eyes
|
| Here, all for what has come
|
| All for what has come»
|
| Flock and feather
|
| Tied into each other
|
| And we’re born in, burning
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| To return to one another
|
| Flock and feather
|
| Tied into each other
|
| And we’re born in, burning
|
| To return to one another
|
| Wake up, my sister
|
| Doesn’t the water sound nearer
|
| Your road farther away
|
| And no, it don’t come easy
|
| There is a wave’s weight over me
|
| But I can’t hear you say
|
| «You don’t have to be the only one
|
| You don’t have to be the golden sun
|
| Breathe and let it set
|
| You can see it in the way we need
|
| You can breathe it in the cedar leaves
|
| Blowing smoke and sweat
|
| We can see it in the pale light
|
| We can see it in each other’s eyes
|
| Here, all for what is yet
|
| All for what is yet» |