| Will the wind that scatters dust
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| Reveal its secrets, speak to us of many things?
|
| In the morning, when she comes
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| The bird who wakes you with her song, she’ll beat her wings
|
| She will rise again
|
| And ride a perfect high, and find a sweet seed growing
|
| And never know why she sees anything
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| One more inch for no more reason
|
| Go without you even yet, and death you sing
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| Pass it by when one’s discovered
|
| Time to stop wasting time, what will you bring?
|
| You will rise again
|
| And ride a perfect high, and find a sweet seed growing
|
| And never know why you hear anything
|
| Bless the sunlight, grab this day to make you over
|
| Save the bullet, price the sandman’s head
|
| This time do not roll over
|
| Beat your wings
|
| Yeah, hear them sing of up there in the glimpse of silence
|
| Up there
|
| When the days have come to pass
|
| Our journey broken, gone at last, we’ll beat our wings
|
| Shadows take familiar skin
|
| So recognize them, don’t give in, we’ll beat our wings
|
| We will rise again
|
| And ride a perfect high, and find a sweet seed growing
|
| And never know why we feel anything
|
| Yeah, anything
|
| Yeah, beat your wings
|
| Oh, beat your wings
|
| Yeah, beat your wings
|
| Now beat your wings
|
| Yeah, beat your wings
|
| Yeah, beat your wings
|
| Oh, beat your wings
|
| Yeah, beat your wings
|
| Yeah, beat your wings… |