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The Morning And

This song is by SoGreatandPowerful and Circuitfry.

Life contains loves like stripes traced on sleeves,
The ones you first met will be the ones you last believe.
We leave something out, overlooking the doubts,
It is an exception we cannot throw, or perceive.
(In theory)
And as we conclude, and solve by our rules
The apparatus transcends the enigma in our schools
(We Believe)
Faith is not blind!

Great, when I sought you out,
I could not anticipate
Our planes of thought
Caught aligned straight at current state.
Call me "Cherry Chimichanga"
Because I'm fried and sweet
SGAP, think with me, it's a treat.
This beat, this feat, is where we meet:
Repeat this neat progression for caring feet:
Axioms are obsolete when cannot completely
Represent our world with our discrete leads.
What fills the void betwixt the employed
Observations, postulations when our beliefs are destroyed?
Syncopate weak spots, be overjoyed, causation free!
Allocate a melting pot of coy notations to decree.

Sorry circuit, carry us
The mystery of fermions
Multiply lines of flight
My eudaimonia

Baby we could cut the world in two;
So powerful our magic
Trace capitals on every map you find
These animals will take over your life
Tree or root?
Any will do
Everyone makes
Turning the world
To dust
Building a place we love
Memories of a molecule

(Spirits of things we are
Chemicals swirl in harmony
Reaching for something)
Push on, call upon your drive when you're in distress.
Exons to blue swans, arrive at the anomaly's kiss.
Believe, perceive, derive from what is amiss.
Symptom of the count-as-one
Love is undecidable
Let's wait till dusk and see
The Owl of Minerva
(Must we stake
Everything on these girls?)
Now we've conceived what I've never known, it's (bliss)

But now the minds have changed and the earth is turned; every eye catches the new light.
The golden soul would parade over the world's curtain in its lingerie.
The marble would gasp and brush fuchsia the lilies, turquoise the daffodils.
Even in chance of a lunar greeting, swimming fingers would curl eyelashes,
Spilling grain and tossing hair, and in every house the wild coffee would stimulate.
Shaken before the afternoon, curve after curve in the spectrum would saturate.
Swift are hands.

Faith is not blind
Faith is not blind

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