| Must’ve been forces, that took me on them wild courses
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| Who knows how many poses, that I’ve been in
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| But them the main closest, hark! |
| it gives meaning Mine
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| I cannot really post this, AH feel the signs
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| I worried bout rain and I worried bout lightning
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| But I watched them off, to the light of the morning
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| Marking the slope, slung low in the highlands
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| 'Where the days have no numbers'
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| If it’s harmed, it’s harmed me, it’ll harm, I let it in
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| Oh, the old modus: out to be leading live
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| Said, comes the old ponens, demit to strive
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| A word about Gnosis: it ain’t gonna buy the groceries
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| Or middle-out locusts, or weigh to find
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| I hurry bout shame, and I worry bout a worn path
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| And I wander off, just to come back home
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| Turning to waltz, hold high in the lowlands
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| 'Cause the days have no numbers'
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| It harms me, it harms me, it harms like a lamb
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| So I can depose this, partial to the bleeding vines
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| Suppose you can’t hold shit. |
| how high I’ve been
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| What a river don’t know is: to climb out and heed a line
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| To slow among roses, or stay behind
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| I’ve been to that grove
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| Where no matter the source is
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| And I walked it off: how long I’d last
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| Sore-ring to cope, whole band on the canyon
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| 'When the days have no numbers'
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| Well it harms it harms me it harms, I’ll let it in |