Hot soup all burning steamed inside a cup
A child is laughing high up in the way,
Song on the radio says "...never give up..."
But my feats feature feet of crumbling clay.
Not me, not me, not me it's not me now,
It's someone else who really, really cares
Who really wants to understand just how
Each sparrow's falling's lost on counted hairs.
And when the wind pushes a branch outside,
And when the sun reflects us in its tear
Can it be wrong to see the world with pride
When we are part of all things far and near.
The wind inside a hot cup screaming wild,
The branching sun reflects a cheerless child.
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