| I will be the gladdest thing under the sun
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| I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one
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| I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes
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| Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise
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| Doesn’t each of us have a place we belong
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| Could be a sidewalk crack or sad song
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| Inside our searching is desire to etch a silent thought in stone
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| To make our tender heart known
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| I will be the gladdest thing under the sun
|
| I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one
|
| I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes
|
| Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise
|
| And when the lights begin to show up from the town
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| I will mark which must be mine and then start down
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| Everyone wants to be a hero or a savior of small things
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| I want to be champion of evening, forget not the beauty of the in-betweens
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| Everyone of us had orphaned our bodies
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| Born from dust of the stars
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| We can comfort each other in this place
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| I can look into your eyes and see my own face
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| I will be the gladdest thing under the sun
|
| I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick none
|
| I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes
|
| Watch the wind blow down the grass and the grass rise
|
| And when the lights begin to show up from the town
|
| I will mark what must be mine and then start down |