| When you call to me asleep
|
| Up the ragged cliffs I scramble
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| A single thread hangs limply down
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| And I breathe not now, not now
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| And I find you all unwoven
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| Trying desperately to sew
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| I know the kindest thing
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| Is to leave you alone
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| When your seams have come unknitted
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| And you cry out to the sky
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| I’ve run out of my words, my song
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| Just let me die, me die
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| The rockrose and the thistle
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| Will whistle as you moan
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| I could try to calm you down
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| But I know you won’t
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| All the pins inside your fretted head
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| And your muttered whens and hows
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| All your mother’s weaves and your father’s threads
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| Let me rob them of you now
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| 'Cause I’ll darn you back together
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| When you think that you’re bereft
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| And you’ll wail, you’ll scream, but I’ll never stop
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| 'Cause it’s all that I have left
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| I wake and hear you calling
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| And up those cliffs I climb
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| And I find you with a thimble weeping
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| May I, I ask, may I?
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| And you gently gift it to me
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| 'Cause you’ve no clue how to sew
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| And I know the kindest thing
|
| I pray to god it’s the kindest thing
|
| I know the kindest thing
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| Is to never leave you alone |