| Well, didn’t you look sharp with your boots when you met me on the path?
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| From two-tone to downtown Beirut but only halfway back
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| Stealing bits of wisdom from the shelf
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| Turned prisons into prisms of the self
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| And what do they know about the springtime or me and you?
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| Born in the midst of the long hot summer we lived through
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| Did they see you run for every rhyme?
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| Did we run for running out of time?
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| When even heroes have to die
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| No one lives forever, love, no one’s wise to try
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| We’re adding our own wisdom to the shelf
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| Stealing bits of paper, we had help
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| But working away, did we miss the passing of the time?
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| In your own flame you can wither though your passions still outshine
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| Did you read the writing on the wall?
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| Prophesying doom upon us all
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| But even heroes have to die
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| No one lives forever, love, no one’s wise to try
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| But hidden in the writing on the wall
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| Many are the beauties of the fall |