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I dreamed of Moses |
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He wanted to put my hair into cornrows |
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I said, I thought you were born way before |
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Those came into fashion |
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He said, Don't be silly |
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Your dreams never follow the chronology of history |
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And the purpose of dreams is still quite a mystery |
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Even to me |
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So I pulled up a lawn chair |
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Took of my sword and shield and I laid 'em right down there |
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He braided my hair in the shade of a bare branch |
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Of a beautiful sycamore tree |
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You people are singing to me |
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'Cause God never speaks in his own voice, you see |
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You people are singing to me |
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And your song says what it says |
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I was born for singing |
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At the top of my lungs over church bells ringing |
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And bringing confusion to those disillusioned |
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By fighting against the mainstream |
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We were born for dying |
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Short time to prepare for long time in the sky and |
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No matter what you believe you must admit |
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Some things are not like they seem |
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And when Moses finished |
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He stared at me hard with a squint and a grimace |
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Said, You look so damn good that I'm mad this isn't real life |
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And it's just a dream |
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You people are singing to me |
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'Cause people are more than just drops in the sea |
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You people are singing to me |
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And your song says what it says |
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I woke up from dreaming |
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And I stepped out my door onto landscape a-gleaming |
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A man came right up to my door just to hand me a pamphlet |
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About jews for Jesus |
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The world is so narrow |
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And I walk down the sidewalk heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe, |
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Walking a tightrope and nothing is real below, |
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Heel-to-toe 'til the next platform |
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I may be wrong |
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But someone above me tossed down this song |
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With a long introductory letter that I never quite found |
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The time to read |
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You people are singing to me |
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'Cause God never speaks in his own voice, you see |
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You people are singing to me |
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And your song says, Ezra |
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Get yourself free |
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Get yourself free |
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Get yourself free |