| Lonely the roses of Avondaire sing as though somebody still may care.
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| They live only for the dream of living so come follow
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| where they will take you there.
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| I once was apprenticed to a man who was living
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| In the eye if the hurricane to know despair,
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| He knew all the dreams by heart just like sailing in a boat of
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| crystal silence seeing visions of the world of life within a life.
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| In a turning like a burning came turning
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| Out of everything stirring and what had begun before
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| But all wrapped up in one great godly becoming —
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| Tumbling and fumbling and stumbling
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| Into bumbling and rumbling along —
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| Whirling it and swirling it and twirling it and hurling it
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| And overturning it and burning it again.
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| I shared a whirling dervish out on the side of a hill
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| called metaphor vivace
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| Swinging en route to a nascent solar with the scissored
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| visored blizzard wizard
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| Gizzarding planets and secrets within like an avatar.
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| While meanwhile in turn styling and spinning over him
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| Spells bespeaking kingdoms in the dark
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| Calling me to yield knighting me in a field covered with armies
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| And with princes. |
| All were signing cannons shining pennants flying.
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| And when he spoke to me he sang and his words really rang —
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| This child of the knowledge of the beauty of the night —
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| He sang to me of masters passing on of father after father after father
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| Climbing up into the lotus bloom upon the tortoise’s back
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| And of grandfathers who danced through their living a longer time ago.
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| He showed me a palace in time in which all the talismans
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| From all the zeuses swing upon a pendulum of secrets
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| In a circle that remembers and when asked a question will surren |