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If all my lovers sing the big words, |
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and all my brothers keep them small, |
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then I'll get lost in the difference |
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between their whisper and the echo of their call. |
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So I am headed for the ocean |
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to let the sea smoke guide me in. |
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I'd give up my belongings and questions |
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They only ever taught me, to begin. |
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So I will not turn around |
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as I step up to the train, |
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but I'll hear it when you call my name. |
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And I will not be the sound |
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of your roof under the rain, |
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but I'll hear it when you call my name. |
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So I am takin' off my wristwatch |
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to let the time move how I please, |
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to let my day be guided by the sunlight |
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through morning's mill and twilight's soft release. |
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So if you wanna get to know me |
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follow my smile down into its curves. |
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All these lines are born in sorrows and pleasures |
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and every man ends up with the face that he deserves. |
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So I will not give you bread |
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as you reach out from your cage, |
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but I'll hear it when you call my name. |
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And I will not give applause |
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as you step off of the stage, |
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but I'll hear it when you call my name. |
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There's a river running through the city |
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gently reminding me what's what. |
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Of course you are invited to come with me, |
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but I don't think that's really what you want. |
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I think you want a world that will hold you |
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through security and gravity and love |
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and I can't think of anyone who'd blame you |
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and I can't think of how that'd be enough. |
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So I won't come back around |
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when you curse the ground you've tamed, |
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but I'll hear it when you call my name. |
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And when you realize, once I'm gone, |
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that I never really came, |
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oh I'll hear it when you call my name. |
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And when the burden of the sun |
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reveals to you its pain, |
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oh I'll hear it when you call my name. |
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And when you realize that you're wrong |
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but you still give me all the blame, |
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I'll hear it when you call my name. |