| On every page
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| When you just tell them what I cannot say
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| when you just shine upon the ghosts along my way
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| I drop the game of throwing knives alone
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| there must be marks on every tree
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| from the past to our home
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| Only the mayfly used to tell me so
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| now here is august, drop your weight, just let go
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| now midnight sun takes turns with northern lights
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| will I ever have to feel what those blades were about?
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| In that sound of sighing, that empty howl
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| and all the everloving bends in the line of your tries
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| some ends forgotten and some others believed
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| whatever happened to the boy is now a tale for the seas
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| when you know you’re already young
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| like the grass wither to become
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| again and free,
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| it’s all we’ll ever be
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| I don’t remember where i learned to dive
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| but I am humble for the rocks when I try
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| and somehow I am lowered onto the waves
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| now with you I feel the sun and the salt on my face
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| In that sound of sighing, that empty howl
|
| and all the everloving bends in the line of your tries
|
| some ends forgotten and some others believed
|
| whatever happened to the boy is now a tale for the seas
|
| when you know you’re already young
|
| like the grass wither to become
|
| again and free,
|
| it’s all we’ll ever be |