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I would describe myself |
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As the landscape I buried |
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My mother's face |
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As she carried me |
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How her water raged and emptied |
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I would describe myself |
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As the colourfield I married |
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My New York pages |
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How they prepared my sheets |
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And the dirges caged and cared for me |
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Dry your eyes |
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Those tears are all you're given |
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It's no surprise now |
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Your heaven's what you're living in |
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Whenever autie moves around |
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Her dress makes a curious sound |
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They trail behind her up the floor |
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And trundle after through the door |
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Dry your eyes |
|
Those tears are all you're given |
|
It's no surprise now |
|
Your heaven's what you're living in |
|
Dry your eyes |
|
Those tears are all you're given |
|
It's no surprise now |
|
Your heaven's what you're living in |