| Sunday was short and slow and lovely
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| Slept in past noon, woke up, made coffee
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| And somewhere between the sheets and shower
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| We talked about the son and daughter
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| That we don’t have but imagined at our side
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| Well, it’s only a matter of time
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| Sometimes my love grows disenchanted
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| When so much she gives I take for granted
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| But I’m well-aware that she’s my compass
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| The strawberry sun, God’s grace and sweetness
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| And when I forget, when it somehow slips my mind
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| Well, it’s only a matter of time
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| It’s a matter of time
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| Til I break the blinders fastened to my eyes
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| And I can see you
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| Yeah, it’s only a matter of time
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| I found the truth inside the pattern
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| Of furious sound and ceaseless clatter
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| The peace in the painful search for meaning
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| You are the myth made real this evening
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| And a million more before the clocks unwind
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| It’s only a matter of time |