| If I were you and you were me
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| You could see it’s more than just a whale song
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| More than random flowers bursting from my mouth
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| More than shit whispered into the crook of my arm
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| And not unlike the the murmurings coming from caves
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| With their mouths against the sea
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| I am the singer at the bottom of the well
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| Or I am one of many bathing beauties
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| And all along the beach
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| You can hear it getting whispered down the line
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| «Song instead of a kiss, baby, this is a song instead of a kiss.»
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| And is that the saddest thing to know?
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| No, it’s not the saddest thing to know.
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| I could see you’ve made a garden
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| From the flowers growing out of my remains
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| And I would say it’s not the way I would have had them
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| But I would also say that it will work just the same
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| «Here we see the shovel, here the hanging vine
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| Here is where the heart was, here we see the spine
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| Here is where he’ll sing, and here is where you’ll stand
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| Here we see the path from where your other lovers ran
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| Here we see the pond — It’s where the whale will stay
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| Wondering what happened to freedom, and grace
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| There will be a whole entire garden at the end of this
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| There will be a song, instead of a kiss» |