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All the flowers in the field of hours |
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Have withered away |
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And the sky that used to light our lives |
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Is ashen grey |
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As the clouds kiss the faultline |
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And look back as if to say... |
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"There's nothing to see here..." |
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There's nothing to feel here |
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And our dreams left like children by the wayside |
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And our psalms |
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Sung like secrets by the seaside |
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Could heaven come more quickly |
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And lift us from the embers |
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And the cinders that we remember |
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Of the fires that killed out hearts |
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And left us withered and grey |
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There's a tear inside of all our lives |
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That time won't mend |
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There's a shroud around our saddened eyes |
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Here at the end |
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Yet our hopes shine like beacons |
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In the half-light |
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And our prayers-violent wispers |
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By the seaside |