| Last hand I shook was a boat that floated on its back all day
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| In the middle of a song about trees that are scared of the dark
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| Wait until you’re gone to steal some thoughts from offa the shelf
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| To trade for hats with holes that let the night shine through
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| Exchange our fears for little glass holes
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| And broken dreams of bent-backed trolls
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| Who’ll tend the trees and what’s in between
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| The sky above is aglow with evil love
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| The boat sank offshore in a birdbath dreamt by a broken wheel
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| Left by the side of the road right where night slipped and fell
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| And if I ever had they couldn’t tell; |
| if we were they didn’t know
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| She might but if he did they can’t, you must, I won’t
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| Turn our tears to little black holes
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| To light the way for three blind moles
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| Who’ll tend the trees and what’s in between
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| The sky above is aglow with evil love |