Lucy, where are you now?
Are you hiding?
Born in the fire, babe
Poetry on our graves
I forgot so many names, but I'm trying
I think it's time to go
the bartender's leaning slow
and maybe he doesn't know
that you're blinding
I need a night alone
The wind through the trees alone
But as if the glass alone, slow and shining
Lucy, where are you now?
Are you hiding?
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