| It’s four A.M. |
| November ten, a strange electric hour
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| I’m swallowing the morning of your flower
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| Petal by petal I’m laying you bare, red as any rose is
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| (watch her as she opens and she closes)
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| Let me turn your tears into wine
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| Let me turn your darkest hour into light
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| Let me turn your crow into a dove
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| Let me be the one to make you love
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| It’s four A.M. |
| November ten, a vague and hazy time
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| You lie asleep, you’re breathing like a child
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| I’m writing with my poet’s hand
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| To reach you with my pen
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| I know that I can make you love again
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| Let me turn your tears into wine
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| Let me turn your darkest hour into light
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| Let me turn your crow into a dove
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| Let me be the one to make you love
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| In those words I create you
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| Into someone who will
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| Always come back
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| Once you’ve closed the door
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| Into someone who will never refuse
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| When I ask for more
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| But if I think I can own you
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| With some lavender prose
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| Or a violet song, I am wrong
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| And if I think I can have you
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| With a salty kiss or a sultry dance
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| Well, I can’t
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| Let me turn your tears into wine
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| Let me turn your darkest hour into light
|
| Let me turn your crow into a dove
|
| Let me be the one to make you love |