| He’s a blind man, crouching by the pavement
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| Only seeing with his third eye
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| And clutching at the astral shadow
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| Of every passer-by
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| He’s a wise man, trumping all the answers;
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| She’s a wild girl, trying to keep his feet on the floor
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| In whispered physical litanies:
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| «Stay away from the door.»
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| «Oh, but we’re all in this together,» he says
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| «three-legged race across the floor;
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| If only you’d loosen the handkerchief
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| Then I’d forget the door.»
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| «Ooh, that feels so much better,» he says
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| «now you forget everything that I’ve said before
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| And sit there all by yourself
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| While I walk through the door.»
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| They’re a blind man, crouching by the pavement
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| Only seeing with his third eye
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| And clutching at the astral shadow
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| Of the door of a room
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| Called 'I' |