| The rebellious sons were torn from the tears of the gods
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| Dealing in the dust before the of the serpent and mouse
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| The captain was turned to stone and his voice was heard no more
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| He’s still on his knees outside the witch’s house
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| Treachery for the oldest son before
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| He’d come to kill the witch’s clan but stumbled and was
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| Marked by his captors, he died loyal to his gods
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| Refusing to confess, he recited Genesis 4:15
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| An Asia Minor poet who was loyal to the sons
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| His gods had been exiled, he vowed to avenge the disgrace
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| He’d come to the queen who’d betrayed them
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| And as he drew his dagger he cried out, «How does gold taste?»
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| Fate decides the life spent
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| By measuring out thread and then cutting it
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| The gate to hell was left open
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| And there’s little concern in shutting it
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| the two wore jewelry, the whore queen dressed in jade
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| She’s born seventh be forgiven
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| She betrayed the sons in the Sicilian Vespers War
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| Yet her bones were buried with pageant by the old river prison
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| The queen was slain while drinking a cup of her savior’s blood
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| They laid her out to be viewed dressed only in white lilies
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| Covered in ivory, she was as false as Constantine’s Donation
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| Destiny cannot be bribed, as proven by the death of Achilles
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| Fate decides the life spent
|
| By measuring out thread and then cutting it
|
| The gate to hell was left open
|
| And there’s little concern in shutting it
|
| Fate decides the life spent
|
| By measuring out thread and then cutting it
|
| The gate to hell was left open
|
| And there’s little concern in shutting it
|
| Uh, mmh, oh |