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The Microphones
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I'll Not Contain You
I'll not contain you
I won't look for you in my room
Through lengthy talks I'll not contain you
Through climbing arms I'll reach my loft
Through rotting skin I'll leave my coffin
Through calloused work I will grow soft
My eyes narrow towards a light
A place where we hotly radiate
And things aren't concrete there and we fastly glide
Over the bay, over our days and to get there
I'll not contain you
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