| Horses are riding into her arms
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| She lost her own way years ago
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| Her sister calls her from the far side of night
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| And she falls with that call
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| The only way out:
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| She tells me «I love you»
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| But it’s only a game
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| So she slides from the silence
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| She’s fixing a time
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| To move back into darkness;
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| Again with a smile
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| «Don't touch me — I’m falling»
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| She laughs in the night
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| «Don't catch me — I’ll return
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| When the wheel comes around
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| You see we’re all born to suffer
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| We’re all born to fall
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| In the fading world
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| That calls us to Zero»
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| She touches my body;
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| I crouch up to die
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| Down the ramblers we’re walking;
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| In Reykjavik, talking
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| She’s reading a book
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| Finished years ago
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| She’s tearing up paper — she’s tearing up life
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| But she only starts thinking
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| When her blood is brown
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| Gold is the colour she promised to wear
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| But Christ’s blood turns black
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| His body she bears
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| But she dipped him in water, and she blackened the faith.
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| It’s hard to believe them when they spit in your face
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| And I don’t want to touch you;
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| I don’t want to lie
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| In the brownredgold slumber
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| That you’ve taken to ride
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| I remember I was thinking only of you
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| And I built you a playground,
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| It was built up with crosses.
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| But you wanted a valley
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| Where horse could run free
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| We knew it was over when you stammered out lies
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| It’s hard to keep riding when the world is on fire
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| It’s hard to keep riding when your eyes fill with blood
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| It’s hard to keep riding when your grip has grown slack
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| It’s hard to keep riding when your network is sliding
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| We were listening to lions at Flantern with James
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| We were riding the trams to kneel at his wake
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| Though Christ is impaled through the Cross with His hands
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| You’d make your own gospel centred on hooves
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| Christ I was thinking of Your bended arm:
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| It is blue on the outside; |
| it is blue on the inside
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| You said as you buckled, as if you would die:
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| There’s no point in living. |
| there’s no point in life
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| There’s spit on the bridle: there’s blood in the saddle
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| And you slip in the shit — you shat in yourself
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| And Christus is Equus — and Equus is floored
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| You follow in footsteps made by a flower
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| Then I wanted to touch you —
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| But you’re destined to fall |