| Don’t tell me what you do — tell me what you ache for
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| Do you dare to dream of meeting what your heart is longing for?
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| And I don’t care how old you are — I want to know if you will risk
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| Looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for life itself
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| Have you touched the very center of your sorrow?
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| Has betrayal opened you, or shut you off?
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| Can you sit with pain — mine or yours
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| Without attempt to hide it, fade it, fix it, or make it go?
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| And can you sit with joy — mine or yours
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| Dancing with the wildness and filled with ecstasy
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| Without cautioning that we should be more careful?
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| Or remembering that we are limited?
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| It doesn’t matter who you know or how you came to be here
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| Will you stand in the center of the fire with me, and don’t shrink back?
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| It doesn’t matter how you’ve learned, tell me what sustains you
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| Will you stand in the center of the fire with me, and don’t shrink back?
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| Can you still see the beauty when it’s not there?
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| Can you source your very life from its abiding presence?
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| And I don’t care where you live or how much you have
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| But can you rise from bruises of despair and do what must be done?
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| Can you live with failure — yours and mine
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| And still stand at the water’s edge shouting your defiance?
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| Can you be alone, and in those empty moments
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| Truly like the company you keep?
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| It doesn’t matter who you know or how you came to be here
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| Will you stand in the center of the fire with me, and don’t shrink back?
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| (Don't walk away)
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| It doesn’t matter how you’ve learned, tell me what sustains you (Well,
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| I really want to know)
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| Will you stand in the center of the fire with me, and don’t shrink back?
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| (Don't walk away)
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| Don’t walk away
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| Don’t walk away
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| Don’t walk away |