I find the map and draw a straight line
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Over rivers, farms, and state lines
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The distance from here to where you'd be
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It's only finger-lengths that I see
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I touch the place where I'd find your face
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My finger in creases of distant dark places
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I hang my coat up in the first bar
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There is no peace that I've found so far
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The laughter penetrates my silence
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As drunken men find flaws in science
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Their words mostly noises
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Ghosts with just voices
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Your words in my memory
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Are like music to me
|
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I'm miles from where you are,
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I lay down on the cold ground
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I, I pray that something picks me up
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And sets me down in your warm arms
|
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After I have travelled so far
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We'd set the fire to the third bar
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We'd share each other like an island
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Until exhausted, close our eyelids
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And dreaming, pick up from
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The last place we left off
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Your soft skin is weeping
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A joy you can't keep in
|
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I'm miles from where you are,
|
I lay down on the cold ground
|
And I, I pray that something picks me up
|
and sets me down in your warm arms
|
|
And miles from where you are,
|
I lay down on the cold ground
|
and I, I pray that something picks me up
|
and sets me down in your warm arms
|
|
-cimderella-
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-----------------
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Set The Fire To The Third Bar
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| Martha Wainwright |