| Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light
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| To chase a feather in the wind
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| Within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight
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| There moves a thread that has no end.
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| For many hours and days that pass ever soon
|
| the tides have caused the flame to dim
|
| At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom
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| Is this to end or just begin?
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| The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again
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| One voice is clear above the din
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| Proud Aryan one word, my will to sustain
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| For me, the cloth once more to spin
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| Chorus
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| Yours is the cloth, mine is the hand that sews time
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| his is the force that lies within
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| Ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find
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| He is a feather in the wind
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| Chorus |