| Drawn to the light like a moth to a flame
|
| He saw the columns from the bayou, that dark and muddy drain
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| In the belly of the mansion, he swallowed a prayer
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| Then like the shadows on the Teche, he went a creeping up the stairs
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| Was that the murmur of voices or just a mournful wind?
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| It was strangely familiar, so he leaned to listen in
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| As if old conversations still lingered up there
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| With the smoke of spirit candles swirling in the air
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| Godchild, what makes you roam
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| Through the cracks in time and the walls of this home?
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| Godchild, don’t you know?
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| You are caught between worlds
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| Let go and return to the fold
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| Nothing of this earth had prepared him at all
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| For his reflection in a window with all that he saw
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| Suddenly upon him, it’s a scene from the past
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| Then like a sigh on a mirror, it melts into the glass
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| Godchild, what makes you roam
|
| Through the cracks in time and the walls of this home?
|
| Godchild, don’t you know?
|
| You are caught between worlds
|
| Let go and return to the fold
|
| In the thicket, twiney fingers slapped at his retreat
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| When it struck him to ask, «Am I the dreamer or the dream?»
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| 'Twas the burning question that made him turn back
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| And he was yearning for a sign when he froze in his tracks
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| Through the fog, the old mansion was paled in the dark
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| Like a face in the moonlight brooding over the marsh
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| That window was a glimmer against a deepening night
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| He saw it blinking like a signal with the winking of an eye
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| Godchild, what makes you roam
|
| Through the cracks in time and the walls of this home?
|
| Godchild, don’t you know?
|
| You are caught between worlds
|
| Let go and return to the fold |