I believe in many things that I have not seen, and you too, I know.
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The existence of something palpable, no matter how ethereal it may be, cannot be denied.
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It is not necessary to exhibit a proof of decency of that which is so true.
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The only gesture is to believe or not. |
Sometimes even believe crying.
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It is an incomplete topic because it lacks an answer; |
answer that some
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of you, perhaps, I can give him.
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It's a technicolor theme to make something useful out of love. |
For all of us,
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Amen.
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Oh what will it be, what will it be
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who walks sighing through the bedrooms
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That is heard whispering in trova verses
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That is combining us crazy questions
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That walks in the heads, walks in the mouths
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That is climbing through many holes
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That they're talking loud in the cellar
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And yells at the market, what is that?
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It is nature, will it be?, what will it be? |
(Will it be?, what will it be?)
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That has no certainty, and never gives you (And never gives you)
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That has no concept, and will never have (And will never have)
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that has no size
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Oh what will it be, what will it be
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That lives in the ideas of those lovers
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That the most delirious poets sing
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And the drunken prophets swear
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He is in the pilgrimage of the mutilated
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It is in the fantasy of the unhappy
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It is in the day to day of the prostitutes
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In all the bandits and underdogs
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In all its senses, will it be? What will it be? |
(Will it be?, what will it be?)
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Who has no decency, and will never have (And will never have)
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That has no censorship, and will never have (And will never have)
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It doesn't even make sense
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Oh what will it be, what will it be
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That no warning can avoid
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That neither the prisoners can defy
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That all paths will have to cross
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Where all the signs go to consecrate
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And all the little children to investigate
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And all fates will find
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And the same eternal Father who never went there
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They will bless the man again (They will bless)
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Putting out hell's final flame of him (His final flame of him)
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Because he has no point in rolling again (Rolling again)
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For the lack of judgment
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(Ooh, what will it be?
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Ooh, what will it be?
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Ooh, what will it be?)
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That the prophet swears, the poet sings
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And they're screaming at the mockup, oh what will it be?
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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that wakes me up at night
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And it makes me shake, it makes me cry
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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They are ghosts, we are ghosts
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I feel the door knock three times, oh, who will it be?
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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They go sighing through the bedrooms and whispering trova verses
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Listen up!
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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It has no size, and it is nature
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He walks in the mouths and in the heads
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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All the little kids will look into it
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And no notice can prevent it
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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In every bell will chime
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And he who is asleep will wake up
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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They are ghosts, we are ghosts
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I feel the door knock three times, oh, who will it be?
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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They're ghosts, they're ghosts, they're ghosts, they're ghosts
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I hear the door knock, oh, the door knock
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(Ooh, what will it be?)
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It is lived by the bandit, the underdog
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The prostitutes, the unhappy
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The Reverend and the Fireman
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The president, the shoemaker
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And the teachers and the butcher
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The citizen and the foreigner
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Also the judge and the entertainer
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The nurse, the pilot
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The santero, the marxist
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The winemaker and the masochist
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Oh what will it be? |