| This is our surrender to the garden, to the weeds
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| All our stars are turning back to stone
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| This is waking to our morning, falling through our floor
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| Our broken hearts as hard as broken bones
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| Sorrow says «believe me, you can walk into my mouth»
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| But every time we have, it’s hard to leave
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| Let’s say it like the sunrise when it’s talking to the fog
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| We’re both looking for a light in the window of a house
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| Beneath our winter branches, underneath our winter clouds
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| But it’s hard to find
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| Lovers all surrender, like the garden and the weeds
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| It’s all we say when saying what we mean
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| Our arms are full of water and the water all wants out
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| Like our meadow birds giving back their wings
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| Sorrow says «believe me, you can climb into my trees»
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| We know it’s harder to get down each time we do
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| Let’s say it like the sunrise talking to the fog
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| We’re both listening for music by a river after dark
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| In every space we’re making as we pull ourselves apart
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| But it’s hard to find
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| Sorrow says «believe me, you can beat into my breast»
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| And all our bandages and bruises know it’s true
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| Let’s say it to the sunrise, shaking us awake
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| We’re both reaching out for love, outside wanting in
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| To a room that’s made of moonlight and the walls are warm as skin
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| Where our memories of singing fill the air behind our heads
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| And our meadow bugs are living for the only flowers left
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| Where our burns return their fire and the cold can have our clothes
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| Where our dying deer is folded on the soft side of the road
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| Where the wind is our direction and the waves say «come along»
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| Where the faces of our family and friends go on and on
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| But it’s hard to find |