She remembers sitting down in a very public place,
While her hands sweat, her head's in a diving bell,
She thinks yet she can't think,
Lost in between what are dreams and real,
So take her down to the river and bath her, wash away her miseries,
Much too much, too much for us,
A hundred metres wide and two hundred long,
She needs space to breath and needs to feel the breeze,
There are too many people and too many lungs, breathing in the last breath she just blew out,
And it's not that she doesn't want to communicate and it's not that she wants to close her doors,
She thinks the problem's her,
So take her down to the river and bath her, wash away her miseries,
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