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good enough for me
the wonder of it all
tell me I’m alone in thinking
none of us can really see ourselves
till we’re reflected in the eyes of someone else
I have looked but never seen the depths of that identity
and so within the mirror I can’t even find myself
sometimes when the fire dies
it’s hard to keep the hope alive but
hand up to God
when she comes around
here in my soul
I’ll open my heart to her
up there on the rooftop by the silent empty watchtower
a procession takes its solemn course on predetermined steps
every day like clockwork as we exercise our duty
and the purpose is the purpose and it all seems for the best
strange that it must be this way
day after day, day after day but
hand up to God
when she comes around
here in my soul
I’ll open my heart to her
to you
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