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This song is by Bill Mallonee and appears on the album Permafrost (2006).

Yeah it all comes down to geography of clouds
And coordinates of your scrap heap dreams
And your star maps the ones of hades
Well if I were you I wouldn't trust the thing

I never waited for this to become
Something it wasn't supposed to be
And the clang and bang of those big guitars
It's in the small things so holy and pristine

You were good with your cues
Good with your promptings
And your hands were never cold
She says you may know her body
But you still don't know her soul

Are we angel animal or machine
The volumes are heavy with critique and calibrations
And the question posed of man's purpose or his bent
And your wrecked up heart gets to weigh the evidence

Could be the liquor or it could be the pills
Could be the clash of chemistries against ambition's blind will
But after all there's never really been
Quite such a thing as an original sin

And you're sucker punched reeling about
And you fall to your knees and you're down for the count
Was it something the age slipped in your drink
Or was it more like the air everyone breathes around here till they stink

And the temperature drops like a sledgehammer
As you lean hard into a December wind
But love given and received is all that really matters
And this is where the strings come in

There was a palace but the rooms were all barren
You know the one you had planned to rob
And me well I went down to the river
And let the current and the Spirit start to do its job

Cause beginnings are waves never ending
And the endings are breaking in fits and starts
And the shards of our mistakes they're on magnetic tape
And the meter's pegging red in our staticky little hearts

Well it all comes down to geography of clouds
Where the light of love just passes right through
And those million faces you have worn
Well none of them was exactly you

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