| I split the atom of one second
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| Choosing history’s lathe
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| Each word summons now the next
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| A master to his slave
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| Countless links
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| Within some silent chain
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| And time becomes the sediment that drifts to algae
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| Divorced from comets' trains
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| In the East, a reflection
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| Of the Western sunset
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| North, South, pole to pole
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| Turn back in regret
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| And to the East I might stumble
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| To the West I would crawl
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| And if North is the winter
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| Then South is the fall
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| And if I had my way, I’d make the clock rewind
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| I’d live again that moment, though I know I’ll never find
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| The future that I missed, a parallel line
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| Where the world would be so bright that it could make us all go blind
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| And if I had my day, there’s so much I’d reclaim
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| The sanctity of motion, the neverending rain
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| The cardinal directions, all pointing to the past
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| Where realities converge, and for a moment, we’re the same
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| And magnets spin the compass
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| In an embryonic flame
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| Somewhere is the promise
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| Of an uncharted trail
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| With seven hundred branching limbs
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| And seven hundred ways to fail
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| To the East, a reflection
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| Of the new moon in the West
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| Her timeless watch is quiet
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| Over tides of her unrest
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| To the North is the current
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| Of a man breathing out
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| Giving birth to the breeze
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| To be inhaled in the South
|
| And if I had my way, I’d make the clock rewind
|
| I’d live again that moment, though I know I’ll never find
|
| The future that I missed, a parallel line
|
| Where the world would be so bright that it could make us all go blind
|
| And if I had my day, there’s so much I’d reclaim
|
| The sanctity of motion, the neverending rain
|
| The cardinal directions, all pointing to the past
|
| Where realities converge, and for a moment, we’re the same
|
| Same as always
|
| Same as always
|
| And if I had my way, I’d make the clock rewind
|
| I’d live again that moment, though I know I’ll never find
|
| The future that I missed, a parallel line
|
| Where the world would be so bright that it could make us all go blind
|
| And if I had my day, there’s so much I’d reclaim
|
| The sanctity of motion, the neverending rain
|
| The cardinal directions, all pointing to the past
|
| Where realities converge, and for a moment, we’re the same |