| The ladies in my dream are so obliging
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| They come on down to do the things I need
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| Whether skies are calm or cut apart by lightning
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| They’re always there to minister to me
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| And at break of dawn, they’re sweetly shining
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| Or at quiet of midnight, cold and dim
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| They say «don't harm him»
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| And when I wake just as their eyes are crying
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| I see that bed and I just want to climb back in
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| But let’s gather up your friends and drive up to that country inn
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| We can stay there, feeling water warmly wash across our skin
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| Giving back all of our tears so we can cry them again
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| You want to tell your dad you can’t believe he’s dying
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| But let’s just walk on down the hall and shut our mouths
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| The AM radio is broken down and crying
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| As on this hour drive we’re silent to ourselves
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| Let’s go back up to your house, and take our clothes off
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| And just push and pull ourselves until we’re deep inside of sleep
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| And with your body next to me, its sleepy sighing
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| Sounds like waves upon a sea too far to reach
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| But I’ll gather up my men and try to sail on it again
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| And we’ll walk and quietly talk all through the country of your skin
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| Made up of pieces of the places that you’ve dreamed and that you’ve been
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| And we will sleep outside in tents upon this unfamiliar land
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| And in the morning we’ll awake, yeah, as a foreign dawning breaks
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| My men and I will all awake. | 
| Let’s try again |