| We traced the contours of the West across the hanging highlands
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| Kicking snow from our boots huddled outside the cafe door
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| Lee Marvin on the jukebox and all our hearts stolen
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| The beginning is in feeling things we never even saw
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| I remember sleeping in the long grass
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| I could hear the traffic rolling
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| I woke early in the morning and I felt the fallen dew
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| And when the motorbikes roared out of the woods
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| I just stood there smiling
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| We were always after something
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| We were always chasing something
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| Now the white birds have long flown across unraveling nations
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| And a thousand ghosts pass through us all every day
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| They blow like the wind through empty rooms of empty houses
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| Until nothing feels as close to us as far away
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| And when the wheels came off the tracks
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| Worn out by years of rolling
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| I was thrown from the wreckage and landed beneath the trees
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| Through the half-light I looked above
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| And watched the branches waving
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| We were always after something
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| We were always chasing something
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| Until moving becomes everything
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| Until moving just becomes everything |