| Way away, the polar swelling, aching and echoing,
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| Falling through the ether as a widow’s waiting on sleep.
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| Readying, the lone remainder,
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| A feeling familiar warning us her waters are to break.
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| Now that apathy has been done,
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| To death let this verse serve as an epitaph.
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| Found God, you found God, found God,
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| And now I can’t afford your love…
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| Yet I am drunken with relief.
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| Kissing in the dissonance,
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| Now we’ve only the grammar of grief and all of our little ways.
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| For as I lay awake, creeping in among the humming,
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| I feel that swelling now.
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| On the wired side of the famine for you,
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| barbed and delusional with pretty pins of panic for my baby,
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| And a widow’s dreams cancerous cacophony,
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| Yet all I hear is melody,
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| And dissonance arguing yet resolving to agree.
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| Lives are spent in argument,
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| Let our last years fall free of fear but not even.
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| Viva, viva la difference.
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| I know I can’t afford your love,
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| Yet I am joyous in defeat.
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| Exposing everything and exhaling,
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| I am the model of relief awaiting an epiphany.
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| For as I lay to waste, creeping in among the humming,
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| I feel that swelling, the echo and the ache,
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| Of all her little ways, of all her little ways…
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| Your words are nothing,
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| Your words are not echoing in me now,
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| I’m the model of relief awaiting an epiphany…
|
| Found God, you found God, found God.
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| Viva, Viva la difference.
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| Your words are all lost in a vague archive,
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| So save me, no, spare me, the hallelujahs…
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| Heaven was never enough,
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| Your eyes are looking so hard,
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| Get off my back now you’ve found God.
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| I can’t afford your love… |