| Sometimes I catch an outline
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| There are moments when I’m almost sure it’s safe to hold my head up
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| And look into your precious eyes in search of you
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| Still it’s just an outline
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| Those sideways glances… I see you doubt me
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| Our self-centred needs have left us floating when we should be holding hands
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| A pair of hands. |
| A share of hands. |
| A comfort-no distortion
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| Gazing down at my old shoes, there’s nothing awkward
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| I can move and still be seen, I can lie with you and keep it clean
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| I’ll slide in through the back door to the corner of your eye
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| Still, we’re sinking as we shiver in a world which has no mirrors
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| Where the glass is just a sliver, where the river’s always dry
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| Where 'time and tide' is just an outline, and always in retreat |