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  • no box can hold the rain.
    no space the wind can’t find.
    fire sparks, then passes on.
    time and space: a tatted lace.
    from the elements we rise and flicker,
    knowing now and nothing more,
    we clutch our spin of days,
    while from the night come
    whispers of eternity.

    oh, when the wheel slows,
    when my time comes,
    don't ship me, baby,
    don't you ship me
    don’t wrap me up and pack me away,
    oh no.
    no, no, no

    don’t let them paint away my wrinkles,
    fit me in the dress I never wore,
    iron out the creases in my jeans
    if you must, straighten out my collar,
    one last time, but darling,
    don’t let them mold me as I never was.

    oh, when you get me ready,
    when you comb my rumpled hair,
    don’t dress me, baby.
    don’t you dress me.
    don’t lay me out in finery.
    no, no, no.
    oh no.

    don’t lock me up,
    set me on a shelf
    to gather dust, standing watch for eternity
    until memories like dust lie silent.
    set no stone to mark me,
    tie me to no piece of ground.

    just lay me down in some ocean,
    let me go and simply be.
    we are not the stone,
    nor the pool,
    merely ripples spreading,
    like flowering stars seeding worlds yet to be.

    then draw a fiery curtain,
    lay a blanket of napalm o’er my bed
    like a rain of fire.
    oh, rain on,
    rain on fire,
    make it rain on me.
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