| All that’s made it to this place
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| Is your window-tinted sunshine face
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| And the rubber tubes and rusty plates
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| On your brother’s stolen bike
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| Come through the window and find my hand
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| Reaching through the sinking sand
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| Of children’s books and far off lands
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| Where muffled voices fade
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| And the bombs explode, and the bombs explode, and the bombs
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| And the bombs explode, and the bombs explode, and the bombs
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| Your shrapnel words through brick and bone
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| Hurt like any stick or stone
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| And now there’s bodies in your home
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| Bodies walking in your home
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| And broken hearts still beat, and broken hearts still beat
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| And broken hearts still beat, and broken hearts still beat
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| You blew out the birthday flame
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| Whistling a sweet disdain
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| Carving out the sugar cane
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| While we watched from my room
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| I remember you that way
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| With everything in the world to say
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| To an empty room on your favorite day
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| Drawing maps with your words
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| Drawing maps with your words, drawing maps with your words
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| Drawing maps with your words, drawing maps with your words |