| You follow the footsteps
|
| Echoes leading down a hall to a room
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| There is music playing
|
| Tiny bells with moving parts
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| Here the shadows make things ugly
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| An effect quite undesirable
|
| The bold and yellow daylight
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| Grows like ivy across the wall
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| And it bounces off of the painted porcelain
|
| Tiny dancing doll
|
| Her body spins, as she pirouettes again
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| The world suddenly seems small
|
| On an off white, subtle morning
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| You stretch your legs in the front seat
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| And the road has made a vacuum
|
| Where our voices used to be
|
| And you lay your head onto my shoulder
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| Pour like water over me
|
| So if I just exist for the next
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| Ten minutes of this drive that would be fine
|
| And all these trees that line this curb
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| Would be rejoicing and alive
|
| Soon all the joy that pours from everything
|
| Makes fountains of your eyes
|
| Because you finally understand
|
| The movement of a hand waving good-bye |