| I looked into a mirror made of lines
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| With tiny symbols here and there to make the image mine
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| A woman stood and painted, and showed me what to find
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| The different parts, the fire, the air
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| And where my life would climb:
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| And where it joins another, and what would always bind:
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| It’s a golden thread to hold you all of my days
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| Hold my head against you, now and for always
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| Sewn me up, shown us a long, long time;
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| Makes you my life, makes you my life
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| The moving finger writes and goes away;
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| I’m weighed upon a balance here
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| And I’m told that I can stay
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| The kettle heats, the water speaks up, says I’m not alone;
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| My whole life is a tapestry, and hanging in my home
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| And here it joins another, by what will always bind:
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| An when you looked your angel flew away
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| And what it meant was your protection’s gone another day
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| And what has come to change you
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| And have you come what may
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| Is fashioned by an old triangle, green as April haze
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| And blue is just a colour, but blue is here to stay |