| The marbles rolled off the table
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| And made a crack in the grass
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| We all thought there was nothing inside the sphere
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| As antiquated as it may seem what goes around comes around
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| And entertains what we’ve thought in the past
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| In his fingertips is something like a shining star
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| And when you pick up the pieces, well, all you’ll find is what’s left
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| Something outshined in the guise of coincidence
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| And is for sure?
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| Who’s really sure of anything?
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| So let’s dance in ideas
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| And make nothing seem impossible
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| Because who wants to know all the answers when we can sing and it’s enough
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| Cause when you pick up the pieces, well, all you’ll find is what’s left |