| Hope that I come back as a door to a room in the house that your mother grew up
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| in.
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| Hope that I come back as a light on a street that guides you home.
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| Hope that I come back as a timepiece tucked into the pocket of your lover’s
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| jacket, counting the seconds till you return (and I counted ‘em down).
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| Wish that I could have been the left lane under your car through the desert to
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| Denver.
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| Wish that I was the cell tower that connected your calls back east.
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| Hope that I come back as a thread that keeps the sleeve from fraying on your
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| favorite sweatshirt, to keep you warm when I’m not there to (and I’m never
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| there).
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| So resonate through my brain.
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| I’m so sick of feeling I’m resigned to never grow, just eventually fade back
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| into a greying residential cityscape.
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| So we fade back into what we know to be true.
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| Save me from sinking in this city.
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| Be the light that guides me home. |