| In the South it is dark
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| But it’s hard to imagine them sleeping
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| When here in the North, I can’t hear through the noise
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| Of the bodies all moving and breathing
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| And the breaking of bread, and the toil and the sweat
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| In the South it is quiet
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| All the bodies are still in their beds
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| Save for a few who can’t find their rest
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| And those who awake with dreams troubling them
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| Sadness steals my body, fills my bones
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| A careless lark, a heavy moan
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| Peter pick her up or let her go
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| Her wings are but the weight of melted snow
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| Bird, I need your help, how do I know?
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| In the East it is dawn
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| And the seas are all pulling and heaving
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| And the seagulls are wheeling, the sailors are hauling
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| Up the catch before sailing in
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| In the West it is dusk
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| And the lights in the kitchen are glowing
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| And the smells wafting out on the streets tell a story
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| Peering through the windows of each passing building
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| Sadness steals my body, fills my bones
|
| A careless lark, a heavy moan
|
| Peter pick her up or let her go
|
| Her wings are but the weight of melted snow
|
| Her wings are but the weight of melted snow
|
| Bird, I need your help, how do I know? |