| High above, I found you so stolen and stunned
|
| Your wounded wings undone
|
| And now you fell to thistled bed
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| A crown of black upon your head
|
| Your wings so tattered, paper frail
|
| Quiet stabs your whipping tail
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| Far away
|
| Far away, high above
|
| We’re spiraling away and black the sun
|
| With vicious circles in spite of me
|
| But soft I see, what dark through hearts is breaking now?
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| Arise and kill the sun and moon and stars
|
| The prophet never sings without the promises
|
| She testifies to wash her hands of ours
|
| Far away
|
| Far away, high above
|
| We’re spiraling away and black the sun
|
| With vicious circles in spite of me
|
| Oh mother night, let down your wings
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| Surround me in your warm invite
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| Take my hand, release your breath
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| Beneath my covers, softly you forget
|
| Far away, high above
|
| We’re spiraling away and black the sun
|
| With vicious circles in spite of me
|
| Far away, high above
|
| We’re spiraling away and black the sun
|
| With vicious circles in spite of me |