| You are the light, the circle, the ring, the grave and the shelter,
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| the trail and the road
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| The rhythm, the secret of all that was born, the spring and the fall,
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| the hail and the snow
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| A rock, the sand, the shade of the tree growing on the side of the mountain at
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| dawn
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| You moan you grumble in every sound beneath the curtains behind the door
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| You are the seldom, the more and more, the maybe later and the not quite yet
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| The floatsam cast upon the shore, the mesmerizing tune of a siren song
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| And you’re the one, the only one, who can appease my trouble, my torment
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| When all sense seems gone, when my life feels lost
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| The sacred and the profane, a seashell in the sand, the crackling of the rain,
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| the underhand
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| May the dust, may the blood, may the fury when unfurled
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| May the icy hearts of men never stain the mirror
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| May the night, may the mud, may the folly of the world
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| May the anger and the storm never blacken the tain
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| Who should I talk to? |
| The grounds? |
| The walls? |
| Those who won’t listen?
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| All the deaf like me?
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| You are the smoke, the ashes, the mask, and you never answer to what I ask
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| And you’re the one, the only one, who can appease my trouble, my torment
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| When all sense seems gone, when my life feels lost |