| I descended a dusty gravel ridge
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| Beneath the Bixby Canyon Bridge
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| Until I eventually arrived
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| At the place where your soul had died.
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| Barefoot in the shallow creek,
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| I grabbed some stones from underneath
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| And waited for you to speak to me.
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| And the silence; |
| it becamse so very clear
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| That you had long ago dissapeared.
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| I cursed myself for being surprised
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| That this didn’t play like it did in my mind.
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| All the way from San Francisco
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| As I chased the end of your road
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| Cause I’ve still got miles to go.
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| And I want to know my fate
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| If I keep up this way.
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| And it’s hard to want to stay awake
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| When everyone you need, they all seem to be asleep.
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| And you wonder if you missed your dream.
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| You can’t see a dream
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| You can’t see a dream.
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| You just can’t see a dream.
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| And then it started getting dark.
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| I truged back to where the car was parked
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| No closer to any kind of truth
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| As I assume was the case with you. |