| What is the end of your day?
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| Do you fade into nighttime or toil away?
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| I believe I was put here to worry and wait
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| We fail to make up for what we cannot name
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| Are you true to whatever you do?
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| Or are you scared to bring light to your own misery?
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| You’re so wrapped up in your history that I never see you here
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| Think of me when you’re painting mirrors by moonlight
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| I’ll hold every clock hand to midnight
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| We’ve all got things to fear
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| What is the end of your week?
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| Some wait for romance to play out like a scheme
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| Others wake Sunday and need to believe
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| That their part in the system is what makes them free
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| But I’m just in need of some truth
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| I know it’s here, but there are so many distractions
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| And when you’re blinded by every refraction you can’t focus on the light
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| You’ll drown in fear, just remember we are all scared, too
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| Don’t neglect the ground we’re all bared to; |
| your roots will give you life
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| I’m lost in the aisles, crossing the lines left behind in some gold-leafed
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| illumination
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| I guess I’m better left to temptation, bared to the ground
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| A fool, no ascetic, I wander around
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| I spew the hermetic and never expound, still it feels like I’m homeward bound
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| And what are you to do when the working day catches up with you, a thirsty seed?
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| I will lend a hand if you need: the running water to your olive tree
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| What is the end of your day?
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| Are you slave to those mirrors your form fills with shame?
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| I meant to free you from those frames but their gleaming has stolen us away |