| A hundred-eighty days go by of constant topple on the page
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| Fill it with words until it falls further gone and outta reach
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| Faster, faster it goes on and I’m stuck mud as turtles pass
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| But give me time and open page, and I’ll learn the books beyond my age
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| But there’s one thing, and overtone of rain
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| Pick me up and out of me
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| Soon as I can see the rain
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| Out the door into the trees, I can hear my thoughts again
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| Half across the world and back nostalgia’s come to take a hit
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| I say hit me till I’m lit, with a light that takes my mind back home
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| Look to the left and all’s gone lit with signs that say I’ve made it through
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| Out of school into the sky I go and fly beyond my own
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| Look to the right and I’m still stuck in chains that keep me from myself
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| Complete with symbols I can’t read that mathematicians live and breath
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| But there’s one thing, and overtone of rain
|
| Pick me up and out of me
|
| Soon as I can see the rain
|
| Out the door into the trees, I can hear my thoughts again
|
| Half across the world and back nostalgia’s come to take a hit
|
| I say hit me till I’m lit, with a light that takes my mind back
|
| But there’s one thing, and overtone of rain
|
| Pick me up and out of me
|
| Soon as I can see the rain
|
| Out the door into the trees, I can hear my thoughts again
|
| Half across the world and back nostalgia’s come to take a hit
|
| I say hit me till I’m lit, with a light that takes my mind back home
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| Back home |