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The Mute

Well, as a child I mostly spoke inside my head

I had conversations with the clouds, the dogs, the dead

And they thought my broken, that my tongue was coated leadBut I just couldn't make my words make sense to them

If you only listen with your ears... I can't get inAnd I spent my evenings pullin' stars out of the sky

And I'd arrange them on the lawn where I would lie

And in the wind I'd taste the dreams of distant lives

And I would dress myself up in them through the night

While my folks would sleep in separate beds... and wonder whyAnd through them days I was a ghost atop my chair

My dad considered me a cross he had to bear

And in my head I'd sing apologies and stare

As my mom would hang the clothes across the line

And she would try to keep the empty... from her eyes

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