| The embers of the saint inside of you
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| Are growing as I’m bathing in your glow
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| I’m swallowing the poison of your flower
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| And hanging on the rising of my low
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| Colorful, and falling from your mouth
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| Like a painted fever in recoil
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| Like a lie without the pain
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| On a pillow of your bones
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| I will lay across the stones
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| Of your shore until the tide comes crawling back
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| Throw the pillow on the fire
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| Make my bed under the eye
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| Of your moon until the tide comes crawling back
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| A waning hand on silver granite ways
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| Will mend my broken limbs and bend my haze
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| I’m sleeping in the silence of your voice
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| I’m cradling the peril of my only choice
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| Even though the truth can burn inside
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| Or fall behind
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| I will wander through your open mind
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| And you will find
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| No lie can hide |