| Signs that burn like shooting stars
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| that pass across the nighttime skies,
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| they reach out in their mystic language
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| for us to read between the lines.
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| Some are born who would defy them,
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| others still who would deny them, signs.
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| Signs like moments hung suspended,
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| echoes just beneath the heart
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| speak in voices half remembered
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| and half forgotten play their part.
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| Signs that come as we lay sleeping
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| left behind for our keeping, signs.
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| Sail along, sail along the reefs and the coves inside your soul.
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| Sail along, sail along in search of a star that you can hold.
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| And we journey far to where that star may lead to (lead to).
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| Signs that whisper in the dreams of sailors
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| and of river queens of paupers and of men with means,
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| it all depends on how it reads.
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| Some are born who never need them,
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| others still who never read them, signs.
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| Sail along, sail along the reefs and the coves inside your soul.
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| Sail along, sail along in search of a star that you can hold.
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| And we journey far to where that star may lead to (lead to).
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| Signs, signs.
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| Some are born who never need them,
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| others still who never read them, signs. |