A sip from grace may never have a taste
Though it’s maker is our maker
Far gone is he from far who loses the mark
Like a hunter he moves to the next target
It’s hard to find rain in a desert
Easier to lay there dead
Like a stranded man
Bathe in trouble and seasoned in slumber
He moves coast to coast unbothered
Born in water from Southern Chile
She moves leaving her mark in lead
Forward she goes without sight
Eager for night like a native-born
In her comfort she is unaffected
In her bosoms she lay waste.
Though it’s maker is our maker
Far gone is he from far who loses the mark
Like a hunter he moves to the next target
It’s hard to find rain in a desert
Easier to lay there dead
Like a stranded man
Bathe in trouble and seasoned in slumber
He moves coast to coast unbothered
Born in water from Southern Chile
She moves leaving her mark in lead
Forward she goes without sight
Eager for night like a native-born
In her comfort she is unaffected
In her bosoms she lay waste.
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