| i saw a modest dream
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| the kind that can’t speak up
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| and lost before it’s let out
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| in the north we hold our tongues
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| but down here i believe
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| when you pull your hair back it’s so easy to see
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| this has not been thought through
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| there are things that we’ve done that we cannot undo
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| there are things i can’t hear when we’re telling the truth
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| at a table out in bethel
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| when i was thirteen
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| the criminals were saying
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| liked how i was silent
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| the cold was the container
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| for the sparseness of our speech
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| the expression in our hands
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| was all that we’d need
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| but down here i believe
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| that i made a big deal with a girl that can’t bleed
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| now I see red and black
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| and evening that kills i want to take it back
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| an evening that kills and i can’t take it back
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| i’m going home back to new hampshire
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| i’m so determined
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| to lay in lakes and see my sisters
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| i will hit my brother and hold my mother
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| this probably won’t work out
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| we might not live forever
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| while there’s nothing to confess
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| please pay attention
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| and i know that it’s brief
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| there’s not nearly enough in one night to have seen
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| what you had in your hand
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| was much more than the gold that i let go to grab
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| so much more than the gold that i let go to grab |