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The one whose shame is left too long |
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Is the one whose name is lost along the |
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Clear and shallow shore |
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A reflection in the water stays |
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The thing it grew upon is an ashen sail |
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No more |
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Turn straw to gold how can you hold |
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Onto the courage to own a name |
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To think of raising up out of these seas |
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The thing that I will raise up is a dress I weave myself |
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Of freshly plucked anemones |
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So collect the flowers |
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In the shallow water all along the shore |
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And take them away with you |
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The eye and a reflection of an eye |
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Is what that flower sees |
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A space we've learned here too |
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Turn straw to gold |
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What can you hold onto the courage to own a name |
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To think of raising up out of these seas |
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The thing that I will raise up is a dress I weave myself |
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Of freshly plucked anemones |
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And I'll be in the water |
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See my hand come through the water |
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And their eyes do close up tight |
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And when they open again a sail is born |