| Ceramic lights, is this television, is this first ideas
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| Laughter hangs from spindled towers, perception makes it real
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| And blankets devour, autumn stretches, on a hill up high
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| Say don’t you wait for me to give up on my side
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| Holding the lights, everyone is burning down the pines
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| There’s nowhere to hide, everyone out here is so high
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| Oh, good god
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| Insides lit up with constellations, reflect teeming eyes
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| And all the sounds for newborn ears, fresh, noisy and alive
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| No don’t you wait for me, no don’t you wait, no don’t you wait for me
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| No, you can’t burn what is already on fire
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| Holding the lights, everyone is burning down the pines
|
| There’s nowhere to hide, everyone out here is so high
|
| Oh, good god
|
| If there’s a softness left then it’s down deep
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| Sleeping in the mines
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| And to get to it would stir the sticking fits
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| From where they now reside
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| The smallness is the comfort between us
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| But experience makes us mean
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| And I know I know, I know, I know
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| This is where the woods will take you
|
| Holding the lights, everyone is burning down the pines
|
| There’s nowhere to hide, everyone out here is so high
|
| Oh, good god
|
| Holding the lights, everyone is burning down the pines
|
| There’s nowhere to hide, everyone out here is so high
|
| Oh, good god |