| Hope dies, withered on the vine
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| Old before its time. |
| Water into brine
|
| And dreams die, waiting to be fed
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| Long before they’re wed to life
|
| So here we are, two ships without a sail
|
| No rudder for the gale winds, or the tailspins
|
| I miss you even when you’re near
|
| You’re leaving, pouring out like tears
|
| If dreams die before we give them life
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| Why should love survive?
|
| Hope tries. |
| First you’re holding hands
|
| Then dreams become demands
|
| And passion turns to plans
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| And love tries, blinded by its youth
|
| To turn its anger into truth
|
| So here we are, twos hips upon the land
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| No anchor for the sand dunes. |
| When the earth moves
|
| I miss you even when you’re near
|
| You’re leaving, pouring out like tears
|
| If hope tries to fight the test of time
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| Why can’t you and I?
|
| Feed me. |
| Pluck me from the vine
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| Stop the hands of time
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| Turn water into wine
|
| And see me. |
| Treasure every seed
|
| Pleasure in the need — be mine
|
| Here you are, my comet in the sky
|
| Afraid to spin too high, and burning as you fly
|
| I miss you even when you’re near
|
| You’re leaving, pouring out like tears
|
| If dreams die, then why should you and I?
|
| We were born to fly
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| We were born to fly
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| We were born to fly |