| From the deepest valleys my heart moves on…
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| And from the highest mountains my heart moves on…
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| And through the cloudy seas my heart moves on…
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| And through the riven skies my heart moves on…
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| And it is moving… A shape is moving…
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| And when the memories burning my heart moves on…
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| And when the echoes returning my heart moves on…
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| And when the welkins are falling my heart moves on…
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| So long as fragments are calling my heart moves on…
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| And so I’m moving through the rifts, through tunnels, veins and briars…
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| My skin is waving like ensigns, an army keen on war…
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| And through the halls I’m moving on, through laps and spines and columns…
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| And all these blunt knifes on my throat are making me feel home…
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| I see a face in poisoned wells, a named but untamed promise and I can hear it’s
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| cloyed voice, sick from the dead bird’s smell…
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| And so I’m tearing off my wings and burn the bony bridges…
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| I spit in wells and cleave a hand… The parting is due to grace.
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| And when the memories burning my heart moves on…
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| And when the echoes returning my heart moves on…
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| And when the welkins are falling my heart moves on…
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| As long as fragments are calling my heart moves on…
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| And when the stars are fading in sober light we dance though smoldering fires
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| and moving on…
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| And when two mouthes are joining in sober light we feel the splendour of
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| plainness and moving on…
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| And when the ashes is snowing in sober light I’m feeding flames with a memory
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| for moving on… |