| There’s an oasis in the heat of the day
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| There’s a fire in the chill of night
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| A turnabout in circumstance
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| Makes each a hell in its own right
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| I’ve been boxed-in in the lowlands, in the canyons that think
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| I’ve been pushed to the brink of the precipice and dared not to blink
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| I’ve been confounded in the whirlwind of what-if's and dreams
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| I’ve been burned by the turning of the wind back upon my own flames
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| Knock the scales from my eyes
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| Knock the words from my lungs
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| I want to cry out
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| It’s on the tip of my tongue
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| I’ve seen through the walls of this kingdom of dust
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| Felt the crucial revelation
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| But the broad streets of the heart and the day-to-day
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| Meet at a blind intersection
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| I don’t want to be lonely, I don’t want to feel pain
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| I don’t want to draw straws with the sons of Cain
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| You can take it as a prayer if you’ll remember my name
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| You can take it as the penance of a profane saint
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| Knock the scales from my eyes
|
| Knock the words from my lungs
|
| I want to cry out
|
| It’s on the tip of my tongue
|
| Knock the scales from my eyes
|
| Knock the words from my lungs
|
| I want to cry out
|
| It’s on the tip of my tongue
|
| There’s an oasis in the heat of the day
|
| There’s fire in the chill of night
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| And when I know them both, I’ll know your love
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| I will feel it in the twilight
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| Oh, as circumstance comes crashing through my walls like a train
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| Or like a chorus from the mountains of the ocean floor
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| Like the wind-burst of birdwings taking flight in a hard rain
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| Or like a mad dog on the far side of Dante’s door
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| Knock the scales from my eyes
|
| Knock the words from my lungs
|
| I want to cry out
|
| It’s on the tip of my tongue
|
| Knock the scales from my eyes
|
| Knock the words from my lungs
|
| I want to cry out
|
| It’s on the tip of my tongue |