| standing at the edge of a prisoners' island,
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| far down south where the wild things grow
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| life or death, it’s a fragile line in this rugged land
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| that we call home
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| the bluest blues you will ever see,
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| red tracks lead the way, white sands stretch for days
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| these whitewash dreams steal your hear away
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| stare into the sun as it makes its way ‘round,
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| rising from the hills with a fiery glow
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| shines bright across the plains, sinking to the depths
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| where the wild things swim
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| waves roll from all around, raw ocean swell
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| crashing on the rocks, the shallow banks, that guard
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| these shores from bay to bay
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| look to the sky, look to the sea, define the visions in front of me
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| look to the stars, back to the sea,
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| searching for answers might set us free
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| in this land we call our home
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| with the dirt that stains our skin, and the salt that fills our lungs
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| it’s the land I call my home
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| the dirt on my skin and the salt in my lungs,
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| give me strength, solace inside
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| look to the sky, look to the sea, all of this beauty
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| surrounds you and me
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| look to the stars, back to the sea, searching for answers
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| will set us free
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| it’s our island in the sun, this is our island in the sun |