"I do not exist," we faithfully insist,
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Sailing in our separate ships and from each tiny caravel.
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Tiring of trying, there's a necessary dying,
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Like the horseshoe crab in its proper season sheds its shell.
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Such distance from our friends,
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Like a scratch across the lens,
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Made everything look wrong from anywhere we stood.
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And our paper blew away before we'd left the bay.
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So half-blind, we wrote these songs on sheets of salty wood.
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Caught me making eyes at the other boatman's wives,
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And heard me laughing louder at the jokes told by their daughters.
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I'd set my course for land, but you well understand,
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It takes a steady hand to navigate adulterous waters.
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The propeller's spinning blades held acquaintance with the waves,
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As there's mistakes I've made no rowing could outrun.
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The cloth low on the mast, I say I got no past,
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I'm nonetheless the librarian and secretary's son.
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The tarnish on my brass, the mildew on my glass-
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I'd never want someone so crass as to want someone like me.
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But a few leagues off the shore, I bit a flashing lure,
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And I assure you, it was not what I expected it to be!
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I still tastes its kiss, that dull hook in my lip
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Is a memory as useless as a rod without a reel.
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To an anchor ever dropped, sea-sick yet still docked,
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Captain spotted napping with his first mate at the wheel.
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Floating forgetfully along, with no need to be strong,
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We keep our confessions long, but when we pray we keep it short.
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I drank a thimble full of fire,
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I'm not ever coming back...
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Oh, my God.
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"I do not exist," we faithfully insist,
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While watching sink the heavy ship with everything we knew.
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And if ever you come near, I'll hold up high a mirror.
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Lord, I could never show you anything as beautiful as you!
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Messes Of Men
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Mewithoutyou (Me Without You) |