| The heart wants to feel
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| The heart wants to hold
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| The heart takes past Subway, past Stop and Shop, past Beal’s, and calls it «coming home»
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| The heart wants a trail away from «alone»
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| So the heart turns a sale into a well-worn milestone
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| The hard-won soft furniture, fought-for fast food
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| Defended end table that holds paperbacks and back U.S. News
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| The mind turns an itch into a bruise
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| And the hands start to twitch when they’re feeling ill-used
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| But you’re almost back now, you can see by the signs
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| From the bank you tell the temperature and then the time, and the billboard
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| reads some headlines
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| The head wants to turn, to avert both its eyes
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| But the mind wants to learn of some truth that might be inside reported crimes
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| So they found a lieutenant killed a village of kids
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| After finishing off the wives, he wiped off his knife and that’s what he did
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| And they’re not claiming that there’s any excusing it
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| That was thirty years back, and they just get paid for the facts the way they
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| got them in
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| Now he’s rising and not denying
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| His hands are shaking, but he’s not crying
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| And he’s saying «How did I climb out of a life so boring into that moment?
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| Please stop ignoring the heart inside, oh you readers at home!
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| While you gasp at my bloody crimes
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| Well, please take the time to make your heart my home
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| Where I’m forgiven by time
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| Where I’m cushioned by hope
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| Where I’m numbed by long drives
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| Where I’m talked off or doped
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| Does the heart wants to atone?
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| Oh, I believe that it’s so
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| 'Cause if I could climb back through time
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| I’d restore their lives and then give back my own
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| Tens of times now its size on a far distant road
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| In a far distant time where every night I’m still crying, entirely alone"
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| But the news today always fades away as you drive by
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| Till at dinnertime when you look into her eyes
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| Lit by evening sun — that, as usual, comes from above that straight,
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| unbroken line
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| The horizon — its rising seems a given
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| Just like your living
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| Your heart’s warm and kind
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| Your mind is your own
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| So, our blood-spattered criminal is inscrutable; |
| don’t worry, he won’t
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| Rise up behind your eyes and take wild control
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| Say, he’s not of this time, he fell out of a hole |