| I have been floated to this thought this hour
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| On a series of events I cannot explain
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| Gather your wit, your will, your luck, your power
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| What it would affect that will not remain
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| A light shines through a little hole the hole’s inside somewhere
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| The spiracle’s obedience it is true, I swear
|
| I have been floated to this thought this hour
|
| On a series of events I cannot explain
|
| Gather your wit, your will, your luck, your power
|
| What it would affect that will not remain
|
| If one claims to know the way let fashion be his bride
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| And more akin to welcome in to being forced inside
|
| I have been floated to this thought this hour
|
| On a series of events I cannot explain
|
| Gather your wit, your will, your luck, your power
|
| What it would affect that will not remain |