We talk of miracles, of undelivered letters written years ago
Of many things that you are dear to me
The mighty happenings

I can only be your canvas
You were golden light reflected all around us
But I'm exhausted, I'm exhausted

There's never been a cloud int he sky fro you
Without this what will I do?
And I know soon you'll go and I'll pass you, earth or ash

I asked to hear of your garden to take each
Of my limbs and dream of happen
Thought I can go again till I can talk and bend and flower anew

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