| Who is much more than a friend,
|
| But never by my side?
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| All beginnings are an end,
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| In the blackness there’s a light
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| Maybe you will only read
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| One or two letters at the most
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| Shipping crates might line the streets,
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| Every stranger is a ghost
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| Cashiers won’t deduct the pain,
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| Loneliness sleeps on the couch
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| Only noticing the stain
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| Once the color’s faded out
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| Let’s go camping in the cold,
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| Make a fire, buy a tent
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| Envision leather getting old,
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| Re-send pigeons that were sent
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| Try to memorize your smell,
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| It reminds me of a field
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| Crickets clearer than a bell
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| Have all their guys recast in steel
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| Birds don’t cry when echoes quit,
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| They trail off into the fog
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| Autumn hurts far less than sticks,
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| Knowing winter’s five feet tall
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| Generations of defeat
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| All assuming your the worst
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| They never tied the cans
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| To the back end of a hearse
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| Take your hand against my own,
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| If there’s a finger I can grip
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| Reassure me at the ace
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| Mine’s a black heart you could flip
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| I’ve come to terms with what I have,
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| What’s been given, what’s been asked
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| Turn my back against the sea,
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| And beg the serpent for a dance
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| But in the red dirt muddy towns,
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| Celebration of the dark
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| Children walking hand in hand
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| With the pygmies in the park
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| I can’t touch you only once,
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| You always leave me wanting more
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| So keep my feet within the house,
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| And stick my toes just past the door
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| Let me know when I’m in love,
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| Let me die when I’m in love |