I can almost see shimmering faery
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As I recline on moss
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But there isn't enough primrose
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There are only wishes in
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A hidden forest
|
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I can almost see ghosts
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As I shiver on icy floorboards
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But Amelia is asleep in winter
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There are only prayers
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In a secret house
|
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I was lost by the wayside
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Amidst the groans of a tired time
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There is nothing for me here
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The tales of the flute by the fire
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A stroll through a sombre evening
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Smoke enticing from their pipes...pipes
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And the honourable visions
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of a pulseless mind
|
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Death comes in an instant
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If you like
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But Amelia may be waking soon
|
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When I sleep, I can't pull myself away,
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Yet
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But I know there are mansions out there,
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Maybe on Saturn or Mars or Mercury or Luna,
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Maybe on Saturn or Mars or Mercury or Luna,
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...Maybe this is a clue.
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I'd never been washed ashore
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Or seen the droll night before
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My body vanished
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I hovered in the concourse
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Of the court of thousands
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Of yellow asphodel
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It hurts remembering the fragance of Heaven.
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We lived in the rowans, avoiding mad water
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Spoiling our children with tea and mushrooms
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Early in the autumn as we slept by the oven
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Someone sent a shape who tore the house apart.
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Our bond was shattered, I was drawn away
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I was caught praying in the shade.
|
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Recently, I went back to my door
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And breathed...
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It was love filtered through yellow paraffin
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We pushed with all our might
|
For you...
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-----------------
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Birth Pains of Astral Projection
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Maudlin Of The Well |