| When I was young I fell in love with story,
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| With the eleventh hour, with the blaze of glory.
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| The theater lights dim and all goes quiet.
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| In the darkest of rooms, light shines the brightest.
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| When hands are tied and clocks are ticking,
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| An audience convinced: we’re leaning in,
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| Holding our breath again.
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| Just when we thought the game was over
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| The music lifts and our dying solider lives!
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| And we breathe a sigh of relief.
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| We’re leaving, we’re leaving our shadows behind us now.
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| We’re leaving, we’re leaving it all behind for now.
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| But even dust was made to settle
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| And if we’re made of dust, then what makes us any different?
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| I guess we give what we’ve been given:
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| A family tree so very good at giving up
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| When we’ve had enough.
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| Though truth is heavier than fiction,
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| Gravity lifts as the projectionist rolls tape.
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| And it makes us brave again
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| And it makes us brave again
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| And it makes us brave.
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| So we’re leaving, we’re leaving our shadows behind us now.
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| We’re leaving, we’re leaving it all behind for now.
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| And it makes us brave again
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| And it makes us brave.
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| We’re leaving, we’re leaving ‘em all behind for now. |