Walking up a staircase in the lair of a mad professor.
You see the hair of the woman in front of you, and you want to caress her.
Each and every step is a waking hour in another man's dream.
Day to day worries doing nothing for your own scheme.
Take into space every chance you get, clear the clutter.
I didn't stutter, I remember the old man's name it was Cutter.
The last chance to take her hand happens in autumn's coming.
When you hear that glassy eyed bard's guitar a strumming.
Head for the hills, say yes, do not distress believe, believe.
She has to be pure enough for you to project your own balance.
Come so far to be who you are do not give it away.
Add it to another's time and place for a time and see the joy.
Don't forget that own fire that own soul that own being eternal.
You see the hair of the woman in front of you, and you want to caress her.
Each and every step is a waking hour in another man's dream.
Day to day worries doing nothing for your own scheme.
Take into space every chance you get, clear the clutter.
I didn't stutter, I remember the old man's name it was Cutter.
The last chance to take her hand happens in autumn's coming.
When you hear that glassy eyed bard's guitar a strumming.
Head for the hills, say yes, do not distress believe, believe.
She has to be pure enough for you to project your own balance.
Come so far to be who you are do not give it away.
Add it to another's time and place for a time and see the joy.
Don't forget that own fire that own soul that own being eternal.
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