| Infinity gives me chills
|
| So could the waters of Iceland
|
| But there’s a difference in finding diamonds in rust
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| And rhinestones in a dishpan
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| Miracles bowl me over
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| And often will they do so
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| Now I think I was asleep till I heard
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| The voice of the great Caruso
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| Bring infinity home
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| Let me embrace it one more time
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| Make it the lilies of the field
|
| Or Caruso in his prime
|
| A friend of mine gave me a tape
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| She’d copied from a record disc
|
| It was made at the turn of the century
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| And found in a jacket labeled «misc.»
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| And midst cellos, harps, and flugelhorns
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| With the precision of a hummingbird’s heart
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| Was the lord of the monarch butterflies
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| One-time ruler of the world of art
|
| Bring infinity home
|
| Let me embrace it one more time
|
| Make it the lilies of the field
|
| Or Caruso in his prime
|
| Yes, the king of them all was Enrico
|
| Whose singular chest could rival
|
| A hundred fervent Baptists
|
| Giving forth in a tent revival
|
| True he was a vocal miracle
|
| But that’s only secondary
|
| It’s the sould of the monarch butterfly
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| That I find a little bit scary
|
| Bring infinity home
|
| Let me embrace it one more time
|
| Make it the lilies of the field
|
| Or Caruso in his prime
|
| Perhaps he’s just a vehicle
|
| To bear us to the hills of Truth
|
| That’s Truth spelled with a great big T
|
| And peddled in the mystic’s booth
|
| There are oh so many miracles
|
| That the western sky exposes
|
| Why go looking for lilacs
|
| When you’re lying in a bed of roses?
|
| Bring infinity home
|
| Let me embrace it one more time
|
| Make it the lilies of the field
|
| Or Caruso in his prime |