| This is it, all we’ve worked for
|
| Foreign and cold to the touch
|
| They freeze and they do burn
|
| These silent indications
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| Only we could keep them under control
|
| You breath an ordained smoke
|
| Please don’t blow it towards me
|
| Or hold my hands and tell me I am worthy of something withstanding
|
| In short and uneasy motions
|
| We let our youth just slip away to fill a giant urn
|
| Revived within ourselves in symphony and song
|
| With limbs like lifeless tools, darting towards the sun
|
| I shot dead the only one we had to guide us home
|
| Through fog-smoke white, no starlit sky
|
| Nor dim nor red, just an idle painted ship
|
| Upon a painted ocean
|
| We’re glowing again
|
| I shot dead the only one we had to guide us home
|
| Thoughts unhelped by the wind
|
| In solitude they drown
|
| I have carried them
|
| I, though silent, I am your brother
|
| Weaving circles around our hearts
|
| Inaudible as dreams of that eternal language we commit to
|
| This is it, all we’ve worked for
|
| Foreign and cold to the touch
|
| And everything we gave has tied us unto this earth
|
| Quietly shining bold
|
| And I am your brother |