| We’ll bathe often in light of the moon
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| We’ll sew clothes from the stem of our womb
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| We’ll bathe often in light of the moon
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| We’ll sew clothes from the stem of our womb
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| Oh, my sweet fairy
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| The past is strong, strong, strong
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| Touch not my bosom for I’ll not get far, far
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| Color your cartography in your dreams of me
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| Maps will not lie, will not lie, will not lie in me
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| Grow into gardens, the caverns you found in me
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| Heal off the weightless you held from the start of me
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| Oh, my sweet fairy
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| Our hearts did us wrong
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| But rudders of bodies doth carry us on, on
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| And more moons than our eyes can recount and store
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| Yet they bid that we see the same things
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| Sweet, they bid that we swim in their sea
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| Well then, the amber woods are pouting
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| Lie down to keep our heads from falling
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| Give in to these seeds beneath me
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| Measure that they do in time harvest |