| By the time we’re done with dancing
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| Elsewhere darling you’ll be glancing
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| And the night’s a river-torrent tearing us apart
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| Merely melody entwined us
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| Easily the ties that bind us
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| Break in fibrillations of the heart
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| Don’t cry out or cling in terror
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| Darling that’s a fatal error
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| Clinging to a somebody you thought you knew was yours
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| Dispossession by attrition is a permanent condition
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| That the wretched modern world endures
 | 
| You drift away, you’re carried by a stream
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| Refugee a wanderer you roam;
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| You lose your way, so it will come to seem:
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| No Place in Particular is home
 | 
| You glance away, your house has disappeared
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| The sweater you’ve been knitting has unpurled
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| You live adrift, and everything you feared
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| Comes to you in this undoing world
 | 
| Copper-plated, nailed together, buffeted by ocean weather
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| Stands the Queen of Exiles and our mother she may be
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| Hollow-breasted broken-hearted watching for her dear departed
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| For her children cast upon the sea
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| At her back the great idyllic land of justice
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| For exilic peoples ponders making justice private property
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| Darling never dream another woman might
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| Have been your mother
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| Someday you may be a refugee
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| A refugee, who’s running from the wars
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| Hiding from the fire-bombs they’ve hurled;
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| Eternally a stranger out-of-doors
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| Desperate in this undoing world
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| Mother for your derelicted
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| Children from your womb evicted
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| Grant us shelter harbor solace safety
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| Let us in!
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| Let us tell you where we traveled
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| How our hopes our lives unraveled
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| How unwelcome everywhere we’ve been |