| And what do you remember most?
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| The line of the sea, seceding the coast?
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| Fine capillaries, glowing with cars?
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| The comfort you drew from the light of the stars?
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| And how long did you climb that night
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| With the ice in your lungs, on the rungs of the light?
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| Beyond recall, you severed all strings
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| To everyone, and everything
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| Oh, silent, constant driver of mine
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| Wordlessly calling from the end of the line
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| Where even though each hour I ever loved
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| Must queue and dive
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| Still, you will not take my heart alive
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| You will not take my heart alive
|
| You will not take my heart alive
|
| You will not take my heart
|
| In martial wind, and in clarion rain
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| We minced into battle, wincing in pain;
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| Not meant for walking, backs bound in twine:
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| Not angel or devil
|
| But level, in time
|
| And I rose, to take my shape at last
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| From the dreams that had dogged me, through every past
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| When to my soul the body would say:
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| You may do what you like
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| As long as you stay
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| Now the towns and forests, highways and plains
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| Fall back in circles like an emptying drain
|
| And I won’t come round this way again
|
| Where the lonely wind abides
|
| And you will not take my heart, alive
|
| You will not take my heart alive
|
| You will not take my heart |