Greg Shaw, scissors in hand
Was here before
And in a stroke of luck
Found this long lost song
Someone, covered his eyes
With a cloth
And erased with a knife
The memory of what was found
All that was left
Was a random sound:
The voice of a girl singing
“This is where I come from”
Greg Shaw, scissors in hand
In an airport lounge
We follow him as he
Marks the walls
Now all we hear
Is a random sound:
The voice of a girl singing
“This is where I come from”
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