| I think of us lately all dressed to the night
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| I think of us lying and so calmed in wine
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| I think of us brething and brething in time
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| We are the beaters that drum in the night
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| And the silence comes
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| And you can’t help but sigh
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| We exhale when the battle is won
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| You exhale and the thread is undone
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| You’re the forest each side of the road
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| You’re the swimmer with pockets of stones
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| Oh in me you are the kite string and the anchor rope
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| I think of us sleeping to some warmer climes
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| Walking out into the cold empty tide
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| I think of us dancing, oh dancing all night
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| Walking home later and later at night
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| You’re falling to sleep for the very last time
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| It’s oh nice to see
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| That look in your eyes
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| And the people they beg, to see you again
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| So put on your shoes
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| Take off from your mind
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| And the silence comes
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| And you can’t help but sight
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| And you can’t help but sigh
|
| We exhale when the battle is won
|
| You exhale and the thread is undone
|
| You’re the forest each side of the road
|
| You’re the swimmer with pockets of stones
|
| Oh in me you are the kite string and the anchor rope
|
| The kite string and the anchor rope
|
| The kite string and the anchor rope
|
| The kite string and the anchor rope |