| There is a fire that speaks
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| In the whispers of the summer night breeze
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| It shines bright from memory mountain
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| There is a moment
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| You can see it if you look just right
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| It’s the fire on the hill
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| As you drive by
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| There is a hill with a fire
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| Where the tall grass is grow in a line
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| The fire whispers and coyotes whine
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| As the ghostly collapsed asylum
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| And high above where the engines turned
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| Above the mine, above the river
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| Where the asylum burned
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| There is a fire that will not die
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| There is the magic being born
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| We are there, wing weapons
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| Until the break of dawn
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| I can see
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| The fire from my window
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| I can see it with my eyes closed
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| I’m on the hill, looking down
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| I set the fire, I was there
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| Across the river
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| Is a house with a view
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| I can see them with my eyes closed
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| Their memory and my memory
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| I can see
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| The fire from my window
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| I can see it with my eyes closed
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| I’m on the hill, looking down
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| I set the fire, I was there
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| Across the river
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| Is a house with a view
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| I can see them with my eyes closed
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| Their memory and my memory |