| There’s a terrible notion that we are what we done
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| Don’t sell me it’s true that forgiveness is gone
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| Because at the heart of redemption there’s no saint to be found
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| Just the fucked up and holy, sharing the sound
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| Now there’s a man on the sidewalk with some cardboard that reads:
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| If you died here right now where would your soul sleep?
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| But I think I’m done with the question, it’s kept me up so many nights
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| Bound to go for a walk, feel the trees
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| Outside of every formable view
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| There’s an all inverted version of you
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| Swinging on the outskirts of history
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| In a spacetime dance
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| And with a universe inside every iris
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| There’s no saying what we find is a sure bet now
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| So I’m breaking through the pains of the romance
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| For a toss up coin
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| Letting go of the point
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| Go and fight for the feeling but we’re wasting our time
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| On highway Valeros, friends by the fire
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| Because there’s nothing we carry when these bodies decay
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| Just your guess, good as mine, and some truths that we
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| Face inside some pervious light
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| When it’s never so black and white
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| So I’m learning how to live in the mystery
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| A peace in the choice
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| Letting go of the point |