| Looking back is not the same as looking forward
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| You can’t see what it is you’re heading toward
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| All that’s visible is what’s left behind
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| The dreams distilled and the dreams discarded
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| What made you leap or left you empty hearted
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| In the moment and in the fullness of time
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| Now you see what it is that you would have changed
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| If only you’d known
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| Where you’d be and to be here is very strange
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| Waking up alone
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| In the middle ages
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| All along you paid close attention
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| To the answers when a voice asked the question
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| How’d you get here, where do you belong
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| 17 makes us brave and so full of nerve
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| 35 makes us pause but we’re undeterred
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| Never say die and so we push on
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| And some come to a place of reckoning
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| Try to fix what they find
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| I arrived with the questions still beckoning
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| In the back of my mind
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| To the middle ages
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| Now you bitch about your job
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| What’s wrong with folks today
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| The price of gas and milk
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| And the guy who begs for change
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| He’s camped out at the light
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| You hide behind your shades
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| And will the green to flash
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| To speed your getaway
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| You’re racing to keep up
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| Or just to be on time
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| That’s what you tell yourself
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| When the emptiness inside
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| Threatens to break out
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| Clouding up your eyes
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| You just have to pull over
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| We used to dread lives rendered ordinary
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| We always said we’d own a grander story
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| But the only kind worth telling somehow
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| Is the one about a jolt that makes you listen
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| That jagged lightning bolt of recognition
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| That love and kindness are all that matter now
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| And way back in the back of your mind you heard
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| Something getting through
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| Like some beautiful passage without words
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| Welcoming you
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| To the middle ages |