| On your palm an endless wonder
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| Lines that speak the truth without a sound
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| In your eyes awaits the tireless hunger
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| Already looks for prey to run down
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| So why do we keep up this charade
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| And how do we tell apart the time to leave from the time to wait?
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| What does tomorrow want from me?
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| What does it matter what I see?
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| If it can't be my design,
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| Tell me where do we draw the line,
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| Tell me where do we draw the line?
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| The dance of flames and shadows in the street
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| Make poetry nobody's ever heard
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| The weight of loneliness stands on your feet
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| The cage already there around the bird
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| So why don't we join the masquerade
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| Before it all falls apart, before our love becomes insatiate?
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| What does tomorrow want from me?
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| What does it matter what I see?
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| If I can't choose my own design,
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| Tell me where do we draw the line?
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| What does tomorrow want from me?
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| What does it matter what I see?
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| If we all walk behind the blind,
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| Tell me where do we draw the line,
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| Tell me where do we draw the line?
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| Where's the cooling wind?
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| Where's the evergreen field?
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| Where's my mother's open arms?
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| Where's my father lion heart?
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| It's like the sun's gone down
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| Sleeps in the hallowed ground now
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| With the autumn's brown leaves
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| With the one who never grieves
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| So why do we keep up this charade
|
| And how do we tell apart the time to leave from the time to wait?
|
| What does tomorrow want from me?
|
| What does it matter what I see?
|
| If it can't be my design,
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| Tell me where do we draw the line?
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| Whatever tomorrow wants from me,
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| At least I'm here, at least I'm free.
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| Free to choose to see the signs.
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| This is my line. |