| The quiet oil painted sky, on canvas made of hope
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| Invites the worm — grow wings and fly, and cross the Heavens' envelope
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| And so he does, and so others, and so do all his friends and brothers
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| Lifted high upon a dream, at the other end of the telescope
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| And here I wait to hear their call, to join them in the festival
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| Yet here I wait, to hear their call — Yet here I wait
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| Time begins to spread so thin, a mask that’s hiding sallow skin
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| And I realise now, that canvas' plot — that I’m the one that time forgot
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| And, like lights projected on a screen, I see the stars — but not the space
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| between
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| I just want to open up my eyes
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| And see the melting sun beneath the sky
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| And how its love just glistens off the stream
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| And holds me here content within this dream
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| And I’ll sail away, sail away, sail away, sail away
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| A whisper in the air evokes a tear
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| Tells me I’m no longer welcome here
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| But I don’t want to leave this quiet place
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| When all that waits outside is empty space
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| So I’ll sail away, sail away, sail away, sail away
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| I swear I’ll never hide again
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| I swear I’ll meet you in the end
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| I swear I’ll look out for the signs
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| If you let me drown this time |