| each day I follow my vocation
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| a silent matter of course
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| I watch the headlines over coffee
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| searching for excuses
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| though we may be the ones who are able to give
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| to be given is our sorrow
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| and we clean up the stairs in front of our house
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| pretending not to hear
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| I will be waiting for the day we rearrange our view of sharing
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| it is time to make amends
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| oh, were all cynics that — broken-hearted —
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| want to be so different
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| merely bathing in our holy silence
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| that casts a lonely shadow
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| now youre feeling ashamed, want to get yourself cleaned
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| but its hard to find distraction
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| desperations a trap thats getting you down
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| …that wasnt my design
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| I will be waiting for the day we rearrange our view of sharing
|
| it is time to make amends
|
| my vocation, silent matter,
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| to be given, Ill be waiting
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| rearranging, to be different,
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| merely bathing, find distraction
|
| now youre feeling ashamed, want to get yourself cleaned
|
| but its hard to find distraction
|
| and we clean up the stairs in front of our house
|
| pretending not to hear
|
| I will be waiting for the day we rearrange our view of sharing
|
| it is time to make amends… |