| The Space Between All Things
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| All the walls of your house,
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| were painted in deep blue,
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| you’re at that indecisive age to choose colours that reflect you,
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| and everything and nothing,
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| is in the space between all things,
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| that fascinates as much as it agitates,
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| words turn me into what I say,
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| as you pull your yellow stained fingers,
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| through your un-kept hair,
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| I noticed that the corners of your jeans,
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| were folded neatly into squares,
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| your thoughts are the strangest place that you’ve ever been,
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| stranger even than Los Angeles,
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| it’s like a cinema where they never ask you to leave,
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| So while you wait and are you wait,
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| and concentrate on being as far away,
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| from fate so while you wait,
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| and concentrate on being as far away,
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| She had a north Atlantic film star grace,
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| that’s why her tears are out of place,
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| that kind sadness has more style,
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| so nothing will make her smile,
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| except as soon as anything happens,
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| she’ll drag me on the street,
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| and hand in hand we stand protesting,
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| while everyone is still asleep,
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| So while you wait and are you wait,
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| and concentrate on being as far away,
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| from fate so while you wait,
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| and concentrate on being as far away,
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| so while you wait and are you wait,
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| and concentrate on being as far away,
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| from fate so while you wait,
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| and concentrate on being as far away,
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| Are you wait,
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| are you wait,
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| are you wait,
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| are you wait… |