| At the center of the world
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| There’s a statue of a girl
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| She is standing near a well
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| With a bucket bare and dry
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| I went and looked her in the eyes
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| And she turned me into sand
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| This clumsy form that I despise
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| It scattered easy in her hand
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| And came to rest upon a beach
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| With a million others there
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| We sat and waited for the sea
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| To stretch out so that we could disappear
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| Into the endlessness of blue
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| Into the horror of the truth
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| You see we are far less than we knew
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| Yeah, we are far less than we knew
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| But we knew what we could taste
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| Girls found honey to drench our hands
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| Men cut marble to mark our graves
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| Said we’ll need something to remind us of
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| All the sweetness that has passed through us
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| (Fresh sangria and lemon tea)
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| The priests dressed children for a choir
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| (White-robed small voices praise Him)
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| But found no joy in what was sung
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| The funeral had begun
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| In the middle of the day
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| When you drive home to your place
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| From that job that makes you sleep
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| Back to the thoughts that keep you awake
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| Long after night has come to claim
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| Any life that still remains
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| In the corner of the frame
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| That you put around her face
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| Two pills just weren’t enough
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| The alarm clock’s going off
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| But you’re not waking up
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| This isn’t happening happening happening happening happening
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| It is |