| The stray, it came, followed us home
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| It brushed around our four legs
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| And looked past them to the door
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| We just laughed and shook our heads
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| And secretly hoped it’d come back
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| The next day…
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| It didn’t
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| You even went back to the place
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| We first saw it, just in case
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| While I was glad to stay at home
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| Searching for money in old birthday cards
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| John Milton himself
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| Would’ve felt these things, too
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| I read somewhere
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| Even blindness couldn’t keep him down
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| I can see him now fumbling through the dark
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| To find a pen and anything for paper
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| Mark the page
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| Take the car
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| Pass the building
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| And wonder where you are
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| And which storey?
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| You were in my dream again
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| I would tell you, but it don’t mean anything
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| It’s just my old dream
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| There’s no yellow fields
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| Of sunflower farms
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| If I have to show you
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| I can do it with my arms
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| No bunches of balloons
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| Or mariachi bands
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| If you need to see
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| Then I can show you with my hands
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| Tie the shoe
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| Take the car
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| Unfold the road
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| Because it goes to where you are
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| And your story
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| You were in my dream again
|
| I could tell you, but it don’t mean anything
|
| It’s just my old dream… |