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Lace my boots and check the sky
Morning light, the roads are dry
A backpack full of tangerines
Steep trails and worn-out jeans
Bicycle wheels hum on concrete
Downhill air, your laugh so sweet
Market stalls with golden dates
Fresh warm bread on paper plates
Atlas open on the floor
Blue roads lead to our door
I keep no compass in my hands
Since your smile drew all the lands
Atlas open on the floor
Blue roads lead to our door
If the poles decide to swap
I'd still find you on the map
Bicycle wheels hum on concrete
Downhill air, your laugh so sweet
Market stalls with golden dates
Fresh warm bread on paper plates
Atlas open on the floor
Blue roads lead to our door
I keep no compass in my hands
Since your smile drew all the lands
Atlas open on the floor
Blue roads lead to our door
If the poles decide to swap
I'd still find you on the map