| It came on Tuesday
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| When harmonic dreams had meaning
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| By Wednesday night
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| The sense had crept away
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| I always see you
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| As a young man, as I read them
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| I wrote that down so
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| Some part of you remained
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| I keep his words
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| And I eat them
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| When I need them
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| They fill the space when I have nothing left to say
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| I have no shape
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| These scribblings that surround me
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| Secure the 'heads
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| Though the frame shrinks by the day
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| And so I wrote
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| Sat on stone steps
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| In the harbour
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| Not fully grown
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| Though it seems like yesterday
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| In the beginning there was hope
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| And all the world was mine
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| A fluttering palace of flax and rope
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| And all the world was mine
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| In the beginning the figurehead spoke
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| And all the world was mine
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| A chart with a line scribed bold, unbroken
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| And all the world was mine
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| In the beginning you helmed the role
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| And all the world was mine
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| In the beginning there was hope
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| And all the world was my design
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| I keep his words
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| And I eat them
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| When I need them
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| They fill the space — what a stupid thing to say
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| All my dreams are loving angels
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| Coming here in such disguise |