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by Cymbals Eat Guitars

If I should return like I once did
Animals will mark me with brown infant eyes
The same eyes whose lids I kissed the high grass in which they sit
Is shoulder length and hanging on your forehead

A week is four years in ancient hive minds
And soon those eyes begin to well up
Your shallow grave concealed by fragrant leaf piles
Black glistening bird eyes averted

Lyrics © O/B/O APRA/AMCOS

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