Forgiving backstage courtyards and familiar cries
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I again hemmed the back of the torn book
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And the contours of the gray trunks, the dark peaks of April
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They scare children mercilessly, but I still believe
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How a match would serve a tree of an old pipe of fire
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And with smoke rings, the rumpled old man would fall asleep in the train
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Carry me down with the wind, where I will fall asleep young
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Where native featherbeds will cover me with my head
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The land where we lose each other again
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Don't look down, there's dirt
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I'm sick
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I'm sick
|
I'm sick
|
I love you endlessly
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The city is half a century old, but my person is not in it
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The city is half a century old, but my person is not in it
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The city is half a century old, but my person is not in it
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The city is half a century old, but my person is not in it
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And if only the bad neighbors hadn't come with news
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How all the narrow-minded people in the village are saved by revenge -
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The hay of the fields would burn at sunset to the windows of the estate,
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And in the morning the house would burn, my house would burn,
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But the white bread of wine is dye and sugar in the pulp
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In the green of May I will again draw autumn slush
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The steps of the temple to the very sky to laugh and cry
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On this from now on my duty, from now on my duty
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The land where we lose each other again
|
Don't look down, there's dirt
|
I'm sick
|
I'm sick
|
I'm sick
|
I love you endlessly
|
I'm sick
|
I love you endlessly |