| Up from the sands of the mighty Sahara comes,
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| Our hero bold, who so it’s told,
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| is a lot like you and me.
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| His passion burns, the world it turns,
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| He fills his hand to fill the void,
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| And fuels the constant feeling,
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| Of nothingness inside his soul.
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| Feels like nothing ever did.
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| Kills like nothing ever could.
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| Dark and jaded world I hated,
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| Everything I left behind.
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| I don’t need you, and I don’t want you,
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| World that left me blind.
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| Beneath the sands of the mighty Sahara lies,
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| Buried treasure sunken deep,
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| in darkened tombs where dead men sleep.
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| Gold fills hands, or is it sand,
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| The same that covers everything?
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| Where cities stood, soon deserts found,
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| Now sink beneath the swelling ground.
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| Feels like nothing ever did.
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| Kills like nothing ever could.
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| Dark and jaded world I hated,
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| Everything I left behind.
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| I don’t need you, and I don’t want you,
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| World that left me blind.
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| This world is for the taking,
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| This world is suffocating.
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| Plastic bags of novacain,
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| Some PCP to kill the pain.
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| Build a tomb to store your rust,
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| Moth-eaten piles of blowing dust.
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| Under the sands of the mighty Sahara,
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| Goes our hero bold, in seach of gold,
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| a casket for a dying world.
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| Our hero stands, wealth in hand,
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| The prize for his endeavors.
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| The masses cheer, to hide their fears
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| That no man lives forever.
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| Feels like nothing ever did.
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| Kills like nothing ever could.
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| Dark and jaded world I hated,
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| Everything I left behind.
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| I don’t need you, and I don’t want you,
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| World that left me blind.
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| 4 kids in Memphis,
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| should pay me 5 dollars.
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| I wrote this song and they said they would pay me,
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| and I want to buy a hot dog.
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| What could this be, too much MTV?
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| Chalk another fad up for its fall into infamy.
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| What’s in a standard if it changes all the time?
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| You’re still having trouble in defining your own kind.
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| Need I remind you, we all knew you before,
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| you threw the rocks at the stage from your glass house on the floor?
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| Now I think you’re punk, just because it’s in.
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| You found a foul mouth and a couple safety pins.
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| Got a peaceful feeling,
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| I don’t want to fight no more.
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| Got a peaceful feeling,
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| I don’t care if we’re punk, or ska, or hardcore,
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| enough for you, it’s sad but true,
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| you can call us names till your face turns blue.
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| Our assurance comes from God,
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| it’s nothing new,
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| we’ll never care 'cause we’re never cool enough for you.
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| That smug look on your face,
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| your nose up in the air,
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| your patches say you’re open-minded,
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| but still you couldn’t bear,
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| some punk thrown in with ska.
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| You said it wouldn’t work.
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| Well you can take your Vespa home 'cause ska made you a jerk.
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| The purist turns a deaf ear.
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| He’s such an intellect,
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| Does he think his censorship is gaining our respect?
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| The raising of a fist, like a trigger of a gun.
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| Stop and see we’re all alike, and we can dance as one.
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| I walked into the room, and she was right there waiting.
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| Leaning up against the bar,
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| well she was perpertraitin'.
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| Slick as snot her spandex,
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| and blacker than some coal,
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| she set her gaze upon my bootie,
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| with disco in her soul.
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| So much for indecision,
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| so quick did she decide,
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| the temptress with her doors open inviting me inside.
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| «I want to take you home with me»,
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| said the sparkle in her eye.
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| «I would like to honey, but I’m about to die.»
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| I have got a time bomb,
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| I strapped it to my chest.
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| When it blows I’m out of here,
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| you can have what’s left.
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| The room got kind of quiet,
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| and you could smell the fear.
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| I only heard the jukebox play «A Tear is in My Beer».
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| «So what’s the verdict Mister?
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| When’s it gonna blow?»
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| I just winked at her and said,
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| «Darlin' I don’t know.»
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| Time-bomb tickin' in the room,
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| everybody goes someday,
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| blows so quick you better be,
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| somewhere where it’s safe.
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| Thin skinned thread-bare thinkin',
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| now you’re gonna die,
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| don’t try to rock the jukebox,
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| just kiss this world good-bye.
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| What’s the deal, don’t you feel,
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| alone now in the silence?
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| Pushing up the daisies now,
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| there’s better ways for you to diet.
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| Seeking after sucker wealth,
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| suckers feel what suckers dealt,
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| All your life you stuffed your face,
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| now you’re dead I rest my case.
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| Got a story here to tell, |
| so you better listen well.
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| some old lady in a church,
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| got a nickel in her purse.
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| You were rich, she was poor.
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| You dropped some fifties on the floor.
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| She dropped her nickel with a clank,
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| she was thinkin' Third World Think Tank.
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| The Karaoke master,
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| the drunkard,
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| and the jerk,
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| ditch this sorry world and all its worth.
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| Keep your candle burning,
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| waiting for the time,
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| ready to explode,
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| the bomb is primed.
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| Up until the middle of the 20th century,
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| many Americans believed in the idea known as the «Manifest Destiny.»
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| It held that all of North America,
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| from sea to shining sea,
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| was rightfully the property of the U.S. and was given to us by God.
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| Native Americans were unscrupulously thrown off their homelands
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| and slaughtered in the name of Jesus.
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| Horror stories of entire tribes being led through rivers while being baptized,
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| just to be shot and scalped on the other side,
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| rival those of the Spanish Inquisition.
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| Today, I see street corner preachers screaming at passers-by,
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| while the amount of Neo-Nazi Hate crimes are escalating every day.
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| All of this under a blanket name of «Christianity.»
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| Read Your Bible.
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| Jesus never beat people or insulted them into believing in him.
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| He spoke the truth
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| And set an example by loving every man.
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| We are called to follow his example.
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| Remember the Massacres at Sand Creek and meeker.
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| Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.
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| Some cowboys were a ridin', ridin' on the range;
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| The grass was over grazed there,
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| and spotted like some mange;
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| The buffalo were dead there,
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| the trees they all were through,
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| and if they saw some Injuns,
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| why they would kill them too.
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| West or bust, in God we trust,
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| «Let's rape, let’s kill, let’s steal»
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| We can almost justify, anything we feel;
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| I’m climbing up that ladder,
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| more brownie points for me I’ll work my way to Jesus you wait and see.
|
| Said one cowboy to another,
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| «I think it would be nice,
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| if we could take these injuns and convert them all to Christ;
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| See, they are all disgusting, and bringing me great pain,
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| and if they don’t believe me,
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| we’ll put a bullet in their brains!»
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| I am always shoutin',
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| when I go outside,
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| how people should repent now,
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| or they’re going to die.
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| My motives are all selfish,
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| I’m a cannon brimmed with powder.
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| If people don’t believe me,
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| I just beat them and yell louder.
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| I see a city on a hill,
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| I see the only way to be filled,
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| mighty rushing wind around us,
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| Holy Spirit burn within us.
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| Burn. |
| Burn. |
| Burn. |
| Within us, within us.
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| Spirit of truth, my eyes deceive me,
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| Teach me how to see,
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| Ears cannot hear, my mouth is too dry to speak.
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| You have searched me, you, you know me, there is nothing good inside me.
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| Purge me, make me clean.
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| My heart needs courage so burn inside of me.
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| Burn within our hearts oh God.
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| Teach me to be still.
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| Let the tears roll from our eyes,
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| all we want is Jesus Christ.
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| We want to…
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| This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine
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| This little light of mine, I’m gonna hold it up, I’m gonna let it.
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| Johnny’s got a grip on a blissful life,
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| He sucks on the smoke from the dope in his pipe.
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| Wrapped around his fingers, a noose is loosing slack,
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| strangling his forearm to fill his vewins with smack.
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| P.C.P. |
| spells gun to the head,
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| half a syringe or a barrel full of lead.
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| grasping at straws and coming up empty,
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| Carving with his life
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| this somber song of hope:
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| «Kill me.»
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| Sally spells success M-O-N-E-Y.
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| If she steps on some toes, it’s an eye for an eye.
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| She’s climbing up the ladder, she’s building up a wall,
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| to block out the world or the fear that she’ll fall.
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| Tightrope thins, conviction never stops.
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| Money means nothing from a 40 floor drop.
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| her security blanket has worn itself thin,
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| she’s hanging in the closet from a rope of her own sin.
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| Nothing changes nothing will.
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| Always skeptic, primed for the kill
|
| Seeking nothing but selfish gain,
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| filling your pockets, again and again.
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| Selling your soul, taking you fill.
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| Grasping at straws, feeding your own will.
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| Killing your conscience, empty, bereft.
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| Losing your life for the world, you are left alone.
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| Some throw bricks through windows and yell, |
| others beat their backs for fear of hell.
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| Two-edged sword that cuts flesh to the joints,
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| the path is narrow, you missed the point.
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| Fistful of sand a pitiful prize.
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| YOu’re blinding yourself, closing your eyes.
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| The point was made eons ago,
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| chaff in the wind, your life’s gonna blow.
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| Nothing you do, nothing can be new.
|
| What is good? |
| What is true?
|
| Seeking to serve not ourselves, never.
|
| The Lord is God, we will live forever.
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| If you could ever find it in your heart.
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| If you could ever think to find some sympathy.
|
| Never ask us to play this song, or that song about our pants, or our
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| Kitty-Doggie.
|
| Never ask us to play Godzilla, or Shut Up, or a song we haven’t written yet
|
| about that time we did some stuff.
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| I feel pretty good today,
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| This time I can see it.
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| This time when I see her face,
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| the words will come out right.
|
| I comb my hair, and put on my favorite shirt.
|
| I take one last deep breath, then I go outside…
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| Praise the Lord, Everybody praise. |
| Ahhhhh. |
| People of th earth, praise.
|
| Give me back my sandwich!
|
| Keith is a vegetarian,
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| Not vegan 'cause he drinks dairy and,
|
| He’s not like me who also eats meat.
|
| He protests the war with the sandals on his feet.
|
| Omnivores for mediocrity! |
| (several times)
|
| Helpless vegetables are trapped,
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| for killing only them you should be slapped.
|
| At least a cow can run and be free,
|
| Omnivores for mediocrity.
|
| That tastes horrible!!! |
| (Ahhhh, my face!)
|
| No Grandma! |
| Know Grandma! |
| Gnome Grandma, ahhhhhhhh.
|
| Get patchouli.
|
| Get the dreadlock.
|
| Get the sandal.
|
| Stinky hippy today.
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| Stinky hippy, stinky hippy.
|
| Perspiration. |