| In the darkness
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| And the static’s in your hand
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| And the warm sense of solace that blows 'round the ground
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| And the spirit says
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| In the clouds that you can’t see
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| As your chest fills with flame
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| As your chest fills with flame
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| A broken strand, a new romance, that cuts you loose
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| Your thawed heart thumps its drum all the time, all the time
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| I’m on fire
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| With the things I could’ve said
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| But you never asked so they just stayed inside my head
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| And you tell me now, that the same words pursed on your lips
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| Slow down, speak up, I hear you now
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| She says she barely sleeps
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| And if she does it’s fitfully
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| Her heart beats on her sleeve
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| And if she dreams, she dreams of
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| A place she’ll never see
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| And words she’ll break down frantically to keep
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| In verse in dusty books
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| Hidden in snow buried as deep as roots, she says
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| «Que sera sera, what will be, will be»
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| So «c'est la vie,» she says
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| Sheets and snow, sheets to cover me
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| «Que sera sera, c’est la vie,» she says
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| Don’t help me
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| I’m tired and far too gone to leave |