| I dreamed of Moses
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| He wanted to put my hair into cornrows
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| I said, I thought you were born way before
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| Those came into fashion
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| He said, don’t be silly
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| Your dreams never follow the chronology of history
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| And the purpose of dreams is still quite a mystery
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| Even to me
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| So I pulled up a lawn chair
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| Took of my sword and shield and I laid 'em right down there
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| He braided my hair in the shade of a bare branch
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| Of a beautiful sycamore tree
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| You people are singing to me
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| 'Cause God never speaks in his own voice, you see
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| You people are singing to me
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| And your song says what it says
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| I was born for singing
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| At the top of my lungs over church bells ringing
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| And bringing confusion to those disillusioned
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| By fighting against the mainstream
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| We were born for dying
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| Short time to prepare for long time in the sky and
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| No matter what you believe you must admit
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| Some things are not like they seem
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| And when Moses finished
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| He stared at me hard with a squint and a grimace
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| Said, You look so damn good that I’m mad this isn’t real life
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| And it’s just a dream
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| You people are singing to me
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| 'Cause people are more than just drops in the sea
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| You people are singing to me
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| And your song says what it says
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| I woke up from dreaming
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| And I stepped out my door onto landscape a-gleaming
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| A man came right up to my door just to hand me a pamphlet
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| About jews for Jesus
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| The world is so narrow
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| And I walk down the sidewalk heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe
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| Walking a tightrope and nothing is real below
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| Heel-to-toe 'til the next platform
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| I may be wrong
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| But someone above me tossed down this song
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| With a long introductory letter that I never quite found
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| The time to read
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| You people are singing to me
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| 'Cause God never speaks in his own voice, you see
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| You people are singing to me
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| And your song says, Ezra
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| Get yourself free
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| Get yourself free
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| Get yourself free |