Sometimes I don't know how to read the clock
Don't need those rooms or nouns.
Cuz we are made of that wise verb.
Forget about the mud, the butts.
No map would help to find us.
Let's just sign a contract in the air
And then, we'll breathe it
all over again.
Focus, won't fade away.
Blured lines by our hidden eyes.
And no map would help.
Let's find us.
Moving backward, forward.
Never extra wonder.
Cuz you'll know,
that's pretty sure the way.
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