| He sits low, in a shady grove
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| Where the trees arc slow, in the shape of 'you know'
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| Marble stairwells, waterfalls, egrets' heads and open arms
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| Whistling through his pensive teeth, the scene is set to peak
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| Like how the desert meets the reef
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| And steals the heart--of the thief
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| She walks slow, past the reach of home
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| In a Western World, far from the things she knows
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| Hanging gardens, patterned walls, the books of Rilke, orchestras
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| Motioning to the slow refrain, the soul is set to gain
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| Or swallow it whole
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| The causal chain--of human loam
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| And as seasons go, it’s a lot like this
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| He reasons for a look, then a glance
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| To the path, where she passed
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| From the page of a book, to a perch in the grass
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| And as meetings go, it’s a lot like this
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| She tiptoes from the path, to the edge of the page
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| Where she dared--to be asked
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| What’s in a name?
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| What is your name?
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| And if you let me know
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| I won’t be alone, I won’t be alone
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| And if you have the time to talk to
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| I won’t doubt you
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| And if I let you know
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| I won’t be alone, I won’t be alone
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| And if you start to fall
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| I’ll be here to catch you
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| Turning around, he sighs, «will you sit next to me?»
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| Motioning forward, she replies, «will you walk next to me?»
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| «I know my lines, and there’s a lot less space and a little bit of time»
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| «I know the play--it's fine»
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| Echoing herself, she says, «will you walk close to me?»
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| Holding his smile, he replies, «what more would you ask of me?»
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| «I know my mind, and there’s a lot less space and a little bit of time»
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| «I know the way--It's fine»
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| He’s wasting time, you gotta take it slow
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| May never get a chance like this
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| And she knows he’s wasting time
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| And she loves the way he tries
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| Even though she knows the lines
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| She’s taking time, you gotta let things grow
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| May never have a chance like this
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| And he knows she takes her time
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| And he keeps along her side
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| All hopes to keep along her side |