| Stay on my shore, and don’t desert me
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| And if you go, the wind will blow you back to me
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| And if your boat is broken out on the rocks
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| It wasn’t anger but a longing
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| We feed the birds, syrup and seed
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| So they stay near, so we can see
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| Flashing red and blue amid the green
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| When the fruit has long since rotten
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| Rolled in the needles and wrecked our skin
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| Gave it all to be empty
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| Wrapped in leaves, wet and clinging
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| In reeds, so holy
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| We split the cord
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| Of cedar and holly
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| And lie indoors
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| Let the smoke do the cleaning
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| And sweeten our skin with the salt and a stone
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| There’s the pages of our story |