I thought of writing you a song
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in a tired repetition
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of the words I meant to sing you all along
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but never did.
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I have some great appreciation
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for lunar tides and roses
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and my heart always intends to beat for you
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but rarely does.
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Well, here are fingers
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that have reached for
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anything they've wanted;
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how often have they broken in the door?
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And here are wings that I unfolded
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at the bottom of an ocean
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and wondered how I never left the floor.
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I always gravitate toward comfort
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but I'd kill for my convictions
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so long as you don't ever make me move.
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You always do.
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I guess I'm sick of building bridges
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over six inches of water
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so when I can barely breathe for me,
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will you?
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-----------------
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For Aegis
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After The Sirens |