| I’m calling for volunteers to climb the mountain
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| Must have experience of the war
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| Must be able to write in the journals that I keep
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| Much better than those who went before
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| Must have experience of the good times
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| So we understand just what the bad times are for
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| Must be armed with fear and firm convictions
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| Unless your conviction is you’re not entirely sure
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| I will dedicate a sea to my contradictions
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| After all the empty years they’ve washed ashore
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| But what of the overflow?
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| Warm roads that my debris closed
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| Scripts late of mothballed shows
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| Stray hopes left with no way home
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| I, who must detain them all
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| When days scrape, I can hear them call
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| You, as you’d dress for her
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| The sweet scent that would lead you there
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| Soft lines only she could know
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| As you shine in her afterglow
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| I, who would hold everything
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| Hold me, I am your broken king
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| Let go, and I fear the height
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| That’s why I must climb at night |