| Well, ‘All is well in order' is what you thought you heard them say
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| and so you drifted off to see what’s not in yourself
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| Light is turning slowly will it lay out on the plains?
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| No more nights of what you wrote back then,
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| no relief of no rain
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| And so, singing songs of rivers tied to accidents within
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| and telling people lies of lions, treasures, and kings
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| Nothing’s more revealing than the dancer and the doubt
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| waving to forget what’s never gone, always there, never right
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| In all these riots of broken sounds
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| Like the last voice you heard
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| Then you drowned, oh lord
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| You know, this is wind and walls and weathered leaves and tearing sails
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| and minnows in your pockets when the rapid’s on trails
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| this is not the future but I sense it’s right up there
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| oh, just another hour, another pass, another day anywhere
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| In all these riots of broken sounds
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| And you sleep on the track every night
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| Oh lord
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| And we don’t know if your treasure is safe
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| where will you be when they find you, son?
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| And you know they’re always following me
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| so when I get there you trust me son, and just leave,
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| I’ll catch up
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| This is where you’re passionate of seasons and their strength
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| and this is where you breathe and walk and know they will end
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| Light is turning slowly to the hand upon your chest
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| so lay it on the plains where there is time, there is love, there is rest
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| From all these riots of broken sounds
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| When you sleep on the track every night
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| Oh lord
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| And we don’t know if your treasure is safe
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| where will you be when they find you, son?
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| And you know they’re always following me
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| I’ll be the best when the silence comes. |