| Some day a shooting star is gonna shoot me down
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| Burn these high rises back into a ghost town
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| Of iridium-white clouds
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| Matted close against the ground
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| While the sky hangs empty as a frame
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| See the reddening horizon line
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| Feel the planet spilling on the space time
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| All the way down Somerset, I take pictures of cement
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| For the history books on Mother Earth
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| To the west now it begins
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| In the sound waves in the wind
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| There is an echo going by me
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| Of the mountains caving in
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| And the potted roads and I
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| Knew that one day we would die
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| And become smooth and whole again
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| Like the ash that sweeps the sky
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| Some day a shooting star is gonna shoot me down
|
| Burn these high rises back into a ghost town
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| There’s holy water lying in the crater well
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| Heavy metals, high test gasoline
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| Blessed singularity
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| A telescoping memory
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| Where the sky still flickers through the leaves |