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lyrics
Perhaps awake I stopped,
By the wounded ocean,
Under a moon unflawed,
At the Garden of Shadows, where dreams drip from every leaf?
It’s late now, but finally you are here.
To Find me on the sands of Winter,
Waiting with open arms on the shores of my own solitude;
Cigarette ends in the distant dark, like watching eyes;
From the foreign windows of Summer, to the crying rains of home we go;
Our people, still in rags of unfathomable darkness,
The weight of my life in your small hands.
The pillow and the rain and the sands of Winter:
The journey to your lips,
With a love that spreads its wings,
In the Garden of Shadows.
Perhaps I awake in a house of burning metal,
The rusted old machine of the unknown grinding on and on?
Wounded, we survived the atomic rain,
To drift the decades with the watery eyes of a dead child,
The rifle misery of another pointless war.
My dreams have abandoned me at the shores of the unknown;
Your story unfolding in the flickering celluloid invisible;
Oh, to have lived when you lived! Really lived, when you lived!
To the depths of Love and Death and cigarettes in the night of the Moon unflawed:
A Time undefiled.
My lover says Its late;
With a voice bathed by the ocean and quenched by the moon;
We spent Summer among the lost;
My solitude lengthening under witness:
Perhaps, I am a man drowning in the rain from clouds of his own creation?
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