| We have clear blue waking skies
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| And the morning after
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| And memories of gold on the run
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| Flying around
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| Was there a drunken cloud
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| Over someone just empty
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| A vision of a mountain you said
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| So where did it go
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| It was light and I held it like a child to be saved
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| From the fires, from the falling down satellites
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| But still wondering
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| Damn, you always treat me like a stranger, mountain
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| Though you’ve seen the shadow between the city and what is mine
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| And fallen kids, all rising mad among their lost believers
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| Suddenly darker in their eyes and their broken smiles
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| It’s only what these kids will haul around
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| There’s a lot of selling land for hungry feet of answers
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| And medicine for balance and things, like seeing your ghosts
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| Thank god we’re bright, said the lantern’s brother
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| Because I don’t know a thing about boats, or the land I see…
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| It was day and I stood there once again, climbing equipped
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| When I knew you were the one throwing dying stars
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| On our gathering
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| But he said, damn, you always treat me like a mountain, stranger
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| Though I have never seen your shadows or fading lights
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| I’m just a rock that you’ll be picking up through all your ages
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| Always believing there’s a canyon for every blind
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| It’s only what these kids will haul around |