| The time capsule we buried in the yard
|
| Is brittle rust and swallowed by the roots
|
| Where the past gathers, old ghosts commune
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| They found a life in me and divided me in two
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| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
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| The time capsule and all its prison guards
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| Turned rusted earth and all its jailbirds too
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| And the dead letters buried there soon found a light in me
|
| Held power over me, I found a way to get free
|
| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
|
| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
|
| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
|
| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
|
| The quivering livid tear into deliverance
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| The violent, ecstatic flash into existence
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| Of breath and heat, the moon cycling
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| Shadow and light, the wheat
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| Bolted, wilted, winnowed to raze
|
| The gold grain down to darkling meadow
|
| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
|
| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
|
| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
|
| The moment you reach out to take hold of beauty
|
| Is the moment that she turns to go
|
| The fallen ash made a crater in the yard
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| And arms of roots and your letters into leaves |