| When the evening like a sparrow
|
| Folds down under its small wings
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| All the light bones and the feathers of the day
|
| Only then in that moment
|
| Stop the rushing and just hold me
|
| Lay your hands where it hurts
|
| And we’ll leave it that way
|
| Well, I have often dreamt of angels
|
| But I very rarely see them
|
| But I know that they’ve been there
|
| Because something smells like sky
|
| In the rustle of their presence
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| It’s a lot like your breathing
|
| Sounds a lot like a promise
|
| But I can’t say why
|
| I have searched all the wise and the unwise places
|
| I have known the price of passion
|
| And what solitude buys
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| It was you I was looking for in all those faces
|
| Always you I was hoping for
|
| When I closed my eyes
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| So I will gather all the feathers
|
| That collect up in the corners
|
| All the risings and the fallings
|
| In the quiet of the day
|
| When you speak, there’s a flutter
|
| Of some winged thing stirring
|
| Lay your head on my heart
|
| And we’ll leave it that way |