| Deep down in the shadows of the twilight where we lie
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| The notion of the sun is just a glimmer
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| It’s hard to see the «let there be,» we hardly have an eye
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| To see more than the faintest ghostly shimmer
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| We drift up through the darkness to a lighter shade of gray
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| A little taste of hope that slowly slides away
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| And ceaseless rolling rhythms that become
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| The day to day
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| How do I think of anything beyond what I have known?
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| I will never show this blind man how to see
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| I need a sense of senses that can move out on it’s own
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| And show me how I’m feeling by degrees
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| The unfamiliar taste of something sliding in my mind
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| The smell of something ringing in my ears to find
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| A better way, to push me out beyond
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| The borderline
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| Leave me out here looking, I will find my own way home
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| Home is not the place it seemed to be
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| Home is where the heart is when it will not lock the door
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| And finally stops expecting guarantees
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| Life without prediction’s a life that doesn’t lose
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| Options are the masters when they make us choose
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| Between beliefs that we depend on and the promises
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| We won’t refuse |