| I was certain that i knew You
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| At the tender age of twelve
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| You’d so often been described by those
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| Who said they knew You well
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| Dark and rugged in Your thirties
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| With a smile as bright as Your robe
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| Every teacher, every preacher
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| With the very best intent
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| Found new ways to hide the mystery
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| Replaced by common sense
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| And to know You was to keep You in my pocket
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| So easy to hold
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| I know I can’t explain You
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| I would not even try to And yet it’s clear that You are here beside me I marvel and i wonder
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| So near and somehow still so far
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| What makes You who You are?
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| It is easy to insist
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| On what is packaged and precise
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| And dismiss the clear suspicion
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| That You’re bigger than we’d like
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| It is tempting to regard You as familiar
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| In so many ways
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| I’ve tried to draw these lines around You
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| A definition or an absolute
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| But i could not be satisfied with black or white
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| There is so much more
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| There is so much You |