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The Gathering » Analog Park |
In the garden, in the park, on a bench, I sit. A newspaper floats on the breeze of this late summer. It is coming my way, I patiently wait.
I see the sign, it's on the road and I think it's crazy
In the garden, of the park, on a bench, I watch. The sandy feet of the children. Pearls of sweat run across their beautiful faces.
You see the sign, it's on the road but I think you're crazy
You are, you are the sign of my unrelief
As I easily get inner contact with myself, I notice distress grabbing for my throat. It is time to reach out. To find something that isn't there,
You see the signs, they're on the road but I think it's crazy
You are, you are the sign of my unrelief
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