| Mother laid her elbows on the bed
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| Whispering the wishes to the threads
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| Weaving in the weight of all our dread
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| Wiping up the stains of our regret
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| Heal her hands by kneading up the bread
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| Cleaning off her fingers as she wept
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| Lurk within her gleaming silhouette
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| Then seal in our wonder to ferment
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| I, like the devil, can fly
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| And I read her sweet mind last night, and
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| I, like God, can fly
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| And I held a candle over her fright
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| What is happiness but a word
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| Spoken from on high for what it’s worth
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| Flown beneath the wings of little birds
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| But I have felt the wind crawl where we’re cursed
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| Find us in the folded parts she pressed
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| Lying in positions, like we’ve slept
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| Find us in the hallows of her chest
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| Lying in positions, like we’ve slept
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| I, like the devil, can fly
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| And I read her sweet mind last night, and
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| I, like God, can fly
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| And I held a candle over her fright
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| I, like the devil, can fly |