| In the hour before sunrise
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| When the shadows hustle home
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| And the owls dream of day-break
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| And the redwoods softly moan
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| I have often begged for magic
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| To bring my true love home
|
| But the sunrise only shows
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| How well my garden grows
|
| In the heat of a single blood-red rose
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| These eyes, no good for darkness
|
| Rely upon the tenderness
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| Of shadows for their passion
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| And the branches slowly twist
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| Tangled promise with a kiss
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| Only lovers can imagine
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| I have often begged for morning
|
| Confessing all she knows
|
| But the sunrise only shows
|
| How well my garden grows
|
| In the heat of a blood-red rose
|
| In the hours of my morning
|
| In the vision of the light
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| Lay the afternoon and evening
|
| And a promise of the night
|
| I have often begged for darkness
|
| To still these trembling hands
|
| But the sunrise only shows
|
| How well my garden grows
|
| In the heat of the blood-red sand |