| The holy girl is our focus
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| She’s the story of us all
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| She can feel our eyes upon her
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| And the hope that she will fall
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| On her left so warm and honey-sweet
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| Like a jealous loving friend
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| On her right such a steep cold and lonely climb
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| The clinging threat of rejection
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| And the thought of her imperfections
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| She says she’s nowhere near the end yet
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| And she makes no guarantees
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| She’s comfortable with failure
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| And her blood may one day freeze
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| And in her iodine stretch
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| Her eyes recede and roll away
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| She knows she’s where nothing can reach her now
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| Beyond where you can see
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| Beyond where she wants to be She walks the ridge
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| So glassy sharp
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| You can’t find her now
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| You can’t speak to her now
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| She’s going out again
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| One day she was a child
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| She could touch the sun somehow
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| She was held in the arms of the galaxy
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| And that child is with her now
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| And in her cobalt moments
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| She’ll show that she’s afraid
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| Her hands reach out and grasp at you
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| But she’s falling further
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| Falling further in the churning dark slide
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| She walks the ridge
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| So glassy sharp
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| You can’t find her now
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| You can’t speak to her now
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| She’s closing off again
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| Now she’s walking slowly onward
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| Through the garden you can’t know
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| Her dance so beautiful so twisted
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| A spinning madness in the snow
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| She’s got a black hole in there with her
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| She’s got the sun all in there too
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| They’re her partners in her eternal dance
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| She’s not aware of time moving past her
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| She’s not aware of getting any further
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| She walks the ridge
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| So glassy sharp
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| You can’t find her now
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| You can’t speak to her now
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| She’ll never cry again |