| We are the blood inside the man
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| Rivers flowing to and from
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| The mouth of the mighty ghost
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| To the eyes of the setting sun
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| These hearts beat for the land and sky and things that go unseen
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| In due time may we come to know, see these things we do not see
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| My love, she walks a tight rope
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| If she falls she’ll fly, I know this to be true
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| But if she reaches the other side
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| She’ll climb even higher
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| Than the crescent moon
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| We are the dreams and walk right through, the stories told with such
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| Wisdom gained of mirth and loss, of pain and joy and lust
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| We are the lungs we breath for dance, for trance, and mystery
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| We are the breath we take it in, and let it go as we please
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| This hearts, a steam engine baby
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| And love is you
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| This hearts, a steam engine baby
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| And love is you
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| We can sing our songs in the midst of pain, and break on down the walls
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| Sometimes we rise above, and look across it all
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| Sometimes we lose the plots, for this we pray
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| In a way that it was never taught, somehow it’ll be okay
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| This hearts, a steam engine baby
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| And love is you
|
| This hearts, a steam engine baby
|
| And love is you
|
| We are the blood inside the man
|
| Rivers flowing to and from
|
| The mouth of the mighty ghost
|
| To the eyes of the setting sun |