| Overlooking the canyon,
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| Right from where I’m standing,
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| I swear I see my former glory still burning
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| It had every intent of returning
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| There’s years to planning and landing
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| To prepare for jumping the canyon
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| It’s not the death-defying, or cheering,
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| It’s the thrill of clearing, barely clearing
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| And if you see no hope for me
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| I still see hope for you
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| In the high rise of the morning
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| The exception that proves my rule
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| Still I’m tying up loose ends
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| I’m tying them to a chance to defy them
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| To protect and hide them, untie them
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| These are not the ones you want to untie them
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| And now I’m jumping the canyon
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| After years of planning and planning
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| It’s the monumental challenge of feeling
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| That you must fight before you start freewheeling
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| And if I see no hope for me
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| I still see hope for you
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| In the wide eyes of the morning
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| The exception that proves my rule
|
| And if I see no hope for me
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| I still see hope for you
|
| In the high rise of the morning
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| The exception that proves my rule
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| Proves my rule |