| Here is a scale, weigh it out and you will find
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| Easily, more than sufficient doubt that
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| These colors you see were picked in advance
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| By some careful hand with an absolute concept of beauty
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| They are smeared and these blurs come in random order
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| And they color the eyes of your former lovers
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| Hers were green like July except when she cried they were red
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| Now, I know a disease that these doctors can’t treat
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| You contract on the day, you accept all you see is a mirror
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| And a mirror is all it can be, a reflection of something were missing
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| And language just happened, it was never planned
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| And its inadequate to describe where I am in the room of my house
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| Where the light has never been waiting for this day to end
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| And these clocks keep unwinding and completely ignore
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| Everything that we hate or adore, once the page of a calendar is turned
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| Its no more, so tell me then, what was it for? |
| Oh tell me, what was it for? |