| Don’t worry about my politics
|
| They are what they are
|
| I work best when I get some rest
|
| Right now I’m in a bar
|
| Overlooking the whole wide world
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| It’s over the Pacific
|
| I’ve never written when I was drunk
|
| This could be terrific!
|
| And the seabird struggles in the wind
|
| She topples, balances again
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| The lady sitting next to me
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| Is gazing in the eyes
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| Of the stranger sitting next to her
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| Who is mouthing truths and lies
|
| He’s actually quite nice I guess
|
| He has an honest look
|
| He doesn’t know I’ve lost my mind
|
| Scribbling in this book
|
| And the seabird struggles in the wind
|
| She topples, balances again
|
| Consumed by the evening’s masterpiece
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| Completely introverted
|
| From here I could stare down eternity
|
| Leave alone and not feel deserted
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| I’m tired of interesting faces
|
| And the dull ones make my weep
|
| Don’t ask me what my sign is
|
| Instant intimacy runs cheap
|
| The ocean is so bountiful
|
| It spreads from coast to coast
|
| The winds scale off the whitecaps
|
| And the things I love the most
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| Come wafting up into my lap
|
| In the colors of the great sunrise
|
| Children holding cupcakes
|
| With paradise in their eyes
|
| And the seabird struggles in the wind
|
| She topples, balances again
|
| Four big pelicans just flew by
|
| The room got very still
|
| One of them carried the breath of God
|
| Tucked way back in his bill
|
| I know it was the breath of God
|
| It’s the same as the secret of life
|
| He’s carrying it off to the Shah of Iran
|
| To trade it for the end of strife
|
| And the seabird struggles in the wind
|
| She topples, balances again |