| I look up in the sky
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| A figure bows its head
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| And then I wonder why
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| They tell me I’ll be dead
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| The ashes in the tray
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| My bones of mortal webs
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| The blood of liquid clay
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| The brain that swiftly ebbs
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| We speed on towards the light
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| Hurling blockades into sand
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| We know that that is right
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| We need to hold a hand
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| That makes us all the same
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| We see and hear and taste
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| We speak and play the game
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| Are you worried about the haste?
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| Can you identify with I?
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| Do many pieces still remain?
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| Or do you ebb and cry
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| And forget you have a name?
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| Have you ever felt the wind
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| In the leaves among your heart?
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| Or do you still intend
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| To let your love depart?
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| The force of love is strong
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| Like the light from distant space
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| The might of love is long
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| Despite refusal to end the race
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| The sun is setting down
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| Where are the eyes to see it rise?
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| No one keeps a crown
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| Except of thorns or gaudy paste
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| The time is drawing nigh
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| We can go and self destruct
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| Or simply fade away
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| With the rosy glow of dusk
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| Or open up our minds
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| And realize the depth
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| Or never see the pines
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| And accept the tragic death
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| Our fate is in our hands
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| Can the demons gain the sway
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| Or sow the lovely lands
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| And ye gods will know the way |