| In the morning, by the sea
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| As the fog clears from the sand
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| Have no money in my hand
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| Have no home, I have no land
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| But it doesn’t trouble me
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| As I lay beside the fire
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| I am easy to inspire
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| There is little I require
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| I wasn’t yours and you weren’t mine
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| Though I’ve wished from time to time
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| We had found a common ground
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| Your force was such a welcome sound
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| How the emptiness would fill
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| With the waves and with your song
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| People find where they belong
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| Or keep on
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| Through the never-ending maze
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| Where the way is seldom clear
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| There is no map or compass near
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| Drive a ship back in the steer
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| Through the bleak and early morn
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| Where a stronger will is sworn
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| Where the moon moves so slow
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| And I seem to never let you go
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| When my hands are old and ache
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| And my memory flickers dim
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| And my bones don’t hold my skin
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| There’s no place I haven’t been
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| I recall the days were few
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| That is all that I can do
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| Feel the carvings in the tree
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| That give shape for you and me |