| To the fickle let it drop, we have the power to sustain
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| Like the motor needs the food to bring real power to our brain
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| Now we bought it back, so let me make it plain
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| Since our mother’s gone, it always seems to rain
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| And the booze and the friends and the party never ends
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| No excuse for behavior that no one can defend
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| We reflect in the quiet, times inside our heads
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| And get thanks for our children tucked up sweetly in their beds
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| Inside their heads
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| Trickling water dripping down
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| Slow like some rivers, without a sound
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| Passed many times since you were at my side
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| I’m still here, but I keep you deep inside
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| With my hands across the water, with my two feet in the sea
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| My fear is for my daughters But will God wash over me?
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| Take our lambs off to the slaughter, take their lives so perfectly
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| Like your bricks are filled with mortar, cast your wisdom to the brede
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| Cracks and falt lines, New York City talks to me
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| Slow like some re-runs on our mother’s T. V
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| New York City
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| She speaks to me in tongues
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| Keeps me to her breast, pumps air into my lungs |