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Okkervil River, M. Ward,
Too much new lightening zapping the brain.
Too much intent in my own heart,
Things screaming inside unheard.
I want to unlearn anything I've ever learned,
but not to start over.
To finish.
Then find the places where life began,
where music was first heard,
where the spark started...
not where it spread.
I mean, it spread to me,
but I disappoint my own self.
So, no more second hand fire.
No more second hand rose.
Where a new thorn draws blood,
there,
there is where you live.
There in that moment,
in that pain.
In that rhapsody
of everything lost.
What does it matter then?
What does it matter if they understand?
It's there for a reason...
the pain
the blood.
It's there for a reason.
Maybe I'll never know it,
but I will sing about it,
I will play it.
I will revel in it.


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The following comments are for "Indie"
by nativeokie





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