What goes in is never what comes out
The hole in a yard ball, pieces of seashell
You're only empty as a lost and found
Sounds from a house, the end of a candle
That kiss for your trouble, ice and its goosebumps
All the runaway meanings of keeping your hat on
The names and their bruises, some eyes that got empty
One chance in a million, the light where you lost her
The miles and a mother shed like a snakeskin
Some shame and some anger and all those drugs just for nothing
A swimming of colors on a Japanese beetle
When the cynic within you finally bowed to a daughter
And the sea and its reasoning and the bones of your music
And that voice that you love and the life you were dreaming
The doors that keep closing, all the hands you let go of
And the tears that don't matter
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