| When summer returns to its warm green fields
|
| The sun fading, pastel in the breeze
|
| The swallow swooping, migrating home
|
| The dawning days morning with a sigh
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| Opening windows with a wounding cry
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| The rainbow’s lost its dreams of gold
|
| And everything slows
|
| When summer returns to its warm green fields
|
| The sun fading, pastel in the breeze
|
| The swallow swooping, migrating home
|
| And everything slows
|
| The floating vacuum draws you in
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| Strange visions are loose on white stallions
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| A wall of sound with flutes and strings
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| Rising on a wave of voices
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| Surrounded by your humble faith
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| Morning’s there to wake us in time
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| Rain and sky
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| The world is breathing, living, but turning in its rage
|
| When summer returns to its warm green fields
|
| Everything slows
|
| The sun fading, pastel in the breeze
|
| Everything slows
|
| The swallow swooping, migrating home
|
| Everything slows
|
| The swallow swooping, migrating home |