That sunrise, that sunset, those winds across the beaches
That light, that dark, those most forgetful times of mourning
The singer, the songwriter, the lyricist par-excellence
One night and one day there were many made-up stories
One high-life, one low-life, one crowd of delinquents in between
Then, when the door was opened, when the stairs were climbed
That card, that lighthouse, that must be for Plymouth Sound
That book, that meditation, that oh so so wanting just to be
The sear, the searcher, the one reaching out for all what is
One grain of sand, one boat with paddles, one day doing escape
One ebb tide, one flo tide, one road right alongside the estuary
When the way is open, when the way is closed, still no one passes by
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