| I’ll keep on diving til I reach the ends,
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| dredging up the past to drive me round the bendz,
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| what is it in me that I can’t forget
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| I keep finding so much that I now regret.
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| But no, on I go down into the depths
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| turning things over that are better left
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| dredging up the past that has gone for good
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| trying to polish up what is rotting wood.
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| Something inside takes me down again
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| diving not for goblets but tin cans
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| dredging up the past for reasons so rife
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| passing bits of wrecks that once passed for life.
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| But I’ll keep on diving till I drown the sea,
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| of things not worth, even mentioning
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| perhaps I’ll come to the surface and come to my senses
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| but it’s a very deep sea around my own devizes.
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| Diving, diving. |