| From the well of Origo,
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| the serpent of aeons flow.
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| We have given you a name.
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| Stream of Time you are called
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| from the depths of the earth.
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| You flow straight through our lives
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| Like the stars adrift as guiding points,
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| you drift also from your source
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| always rolling on and on.
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| Is there a purpose at your core?
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| If my words in solitude could have
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| lingered in these rooms
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| here visits may have been longer
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| Despite my efforts to bend the flow,
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| it’s me that stretches thin.
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| So tranquil is your surface,
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| everything is at peace, in your image
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| the calmness in your pace
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| may easily fool our minds
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| and you may turn upon us.
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| Always out of reach and
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| always in the mirror
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| you run wild and far
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| the sky within your mirror.
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| You run wild and far
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| and by your banks we may find rest at last
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| our common life is all there is
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| your soul equals our reflections
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| constantly you drift past us.
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| With us, beneath us
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| upstream, downstream. |