Wind passes through broken spaces
A hundred hands grab my fingers
I turn the music up
Sing the last song I can remember
The review mirror stays the same
Funny the way things change
Funny the way they stay the same
A hundred hands slipping through
None holding me
The miles begin to look the same
On this drive tonight
If the Braille was written on your wall
Could you read it
And I pass through a crowded room
Looking for you
Do you see me
Fingers touching
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