| There’s light first in the east with autumn more south
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| On and in your eyes, ears, nose, skin, and mouth
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| Where we’re supposed to let everything out
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| Ain’t nothing left to gripe about
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| There’s grey sand on the banks of Gleneden Beach
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| And green moss on the rocks under fir trees
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| There are nice days in the winter where the shadows freeze
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| The stubborn fog stuck in the valley with an afternoon sun tease
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| Just enough to paint the light
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| With each lumen more hue sent to the human eye
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| The lens bend includes to a deeper inside
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| Each color each hue while your bones dry white
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| There’s still teeth in the open jaw of a fossilized beast
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| And more pieces of bone in the hillside from the Pleistocene
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| There are yet to be born new species among my own family
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| And we are each and every creature in outer space on land and in the sea
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| Bored enough to paint with the light
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| Our flesh worn deep red with blue veins inside
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| And the amber haze of a summer’s twilight
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| The lens bending hues into human eyes
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| There is light last in the west with summer more north
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| Parts of Japan wash-up on shore
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| There’s still light left in the lighthouse with that ghost of yours
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| Looking out along the horizon, lost vessels found on the horizon
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| Blood vessels drowned on the horizon—no turning back around
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| Once past the event horizon line
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| Bending the bow and shield of Orion my body drowns
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| Swim into the next horizon line
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| Staring out along the horizon
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| Can’t hear a sound from within your dimension
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| While I’m on the other side of the event horizon line
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| Endlessly through time
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| There is light over here then none over there
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| Star ashes everywhere
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| There are songs that disappear without ever finding an ear
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| And there are strong storms that remove whole landforms crawling with millions
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| of wheels while one engine steers
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| And smears the painted light
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| With each lumen new hue sent to the human eye
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| Like the reds, greens, and blues in the northern sky
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| Each color of you blues, while your bones dry white |