The bird that plucked the Olive Leaf
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(has) been circlin' like a record 'round the spindle of my mind where the needle's worn the grooves too deep,
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and scratched the wax that's blistered from the heat besides. From any movement in the room -
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if my cat walked by the arm skipped but to my surprise, my interrupting cat improved
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the sound already so severely compromised.
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The needle's worn the grooves too deep. (x4)
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I'm a donkey's jaw on a desert dune
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beside the bush that Moses saw that burned and yet was not consumed!
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She's the silver coin I lost! I'm the sheep who slipped away!
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We pray with fingers crossed, but you listen patiently anyway.
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I wrote a little song for you with a melody I'd borrowed put to
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words that didn't rhyme to repeat what you already knew,
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as the stones thrown at your window tapped in syncopation.
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You kept a distance out of fear you'd break,
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but what good's a single windchime hanging quiet all alone?
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The music our collisions would make
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is the sound that turns "the road that leads us back home" into "home."
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The music our collisions make! (x4)
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I had a rusty spade, but I'm not the fighting sort!
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If I was Samson I'd have found that harlot's blade and cut my own hair short!
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Then, in a market dimly lit, I'd come casually to pay:
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"You see, my coins are counterfeit. Would you accept them anyway?"
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So spare me your goodbyes, your waving-handkerchief goodbyes!
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Given my tendency to err so on the sentimental side,
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I will spare you my goodbyes.
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The truth belongs to God! The mistakes were mine.
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-----------------
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In A Market Dimly Lit
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Mewithoutyou (Me Without You) |