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Thursday - "Past And Future Ruins" |
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. |
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Hold your hand to the fire |
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And your eyes to the sky |
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Just different shades of cellophane |
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Taped against the lights. |
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Faulty seams, drawn on plastic leaves |
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Past and future replicas |
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Past and future streams |
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. |
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Hold your head underwater |
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And try to see if you can breathe |
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Or if you drown in the shallow |
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Depths of your belief |
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Because somewhere there must be a better place |
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Here you call to your neighbor |
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Only to see the track is set and they're |
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Walking back and forth in a circle |
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Saying the same words |
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Making their lips sync |
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In time with psalms on Sunday mornings |
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And all their hearts align with pale fire |
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. |
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So call a paper ambulance |
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To trace the paper cuts |
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Don't call on me, I'm a plastic reed |
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Bending in the feigning wind |
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Of artificial fields |
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|
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Then you read the paper |
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Of a woman's early death |
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A note explaining why she left |
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It says: |
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"Somewhere there must be a better place |
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And it's marked with the fountain I've seen |
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Glowing in my sleep." |
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So you want to die and leave this shadow land behind |
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To eviscerate the truth from the lie |
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Cause somewhere there must be a better place |
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But what we thought was a fountain of life and light |
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Turns out to be a mountain crushing down upon us, |
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Casting its shadow, closing the distance |
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Between us and Babylon |
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And all our songs |
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Are just the sounds of past and future days |
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Past of future names |
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Collapsing around us |