As I fly through the eye unaware That the man at the helm is more scared Of losing his money than his mind or his hold on the sky
And the wings on his rings that he wears Bend and bow to the man splitting hairs Between the weight of his pennies and the birds in the sky And what makes them fly
And the stone inside the seed is what feeds the rose And the bud that grows from weed Is more knowing than those Who purge the fishless sea From their sinking boat `Cause the skin is all they see For a glimpse of gold For a glimpse of gold
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