| Everyone agrees it came too soon
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| It was only meant to be an intersection
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| You kept fear of death in a a back pocket of your jeans
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| In the palm of your hand affection
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| It came like a sudden gust of wind
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| Leaving them, bewildered, to ask how
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| I recall last time we met you said we’d meet again
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| The irony is only bitter now
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| These days everyone cries, «say uncle»
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| They want to touch your spirit lest it die
|
| For this your sons and widow gather with us at the table
|
| To form a healing circle for our new demise
|
| These days everyone cries, «say uncle»
|
| I retrieve the memories quickly as I can
|
| Add them to the portrait we all draw in our minds
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| Your body gone, we shall keep the man
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| I close my eyes and hope they do not fade
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| These remnants of a voice and of a smile
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| Images of landscape cloaked in forest green
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| Like your life unfolding mile by mile
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| A fierce embrace, a word of thanks
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| A cheerful whistle and hours in a van
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| Somehow these pieces must bring back the man you were
|
| Though the ocean claims your ashes on the sand
|
| These days everyone cries, «say uncle»
|
| They want to touch your spirit lest it die
|
| For this your sons and widow gather with us at the table
|
| To form a healing circle for our new demise
|
| These days everyone cries, «say uncle»
|
| I retrieve the memories quickly as I can
|
| Add them to the portrait we all draw in our minds
|
| Your body gone, we shall keep the man |