| Streets, these visions, an origami city folding in.
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| Construction, creation, we are architects and kings,
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| Lifting street stones from their beds to build these homes from memory,
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| As we’re tangled in our sleep.
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| We were young together, but I’ve grown ancient.
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| Cracked and weathered and filled with regret,
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| Waiting to sink, rushing to sink in my sleep.
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| The realisation sinks in through the skin like a disease,
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| A blight inside of me.
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| Missing your touch, your weight on my fingers,
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| What was familiar becomes unfamiliar.
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| Give me an anchor, a lifeline to hold.
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| Bring me back to something I know for sure.
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| Locked away, a dream-dweller pale from hiding with secrets
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| Deeper than daylight dares to seek.
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| Come out, emerge!
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| Hands to our eyes, overexposed for all we are.
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| Lay me down in a den of dreamers,
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| Put me to rest on a bed of sleepers.
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| Doubt is a plague. |
| We’ll never be safe here again.
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| When all their eyes are tied to me, just carry the conversation please.
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| We were young, sandcastle kings building empires, cities and homes.
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| Architects tangled up in our sleep.
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| Wake up. |