| Adorned daggers,
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| ruby hilted swords,
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| unfailing crucifixes,
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| striking the mortal cords,
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| huge violent serpents in volumes rolled,
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| all holy poisons poured in cups of gold.
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| Ooh these instruments so blessed and old,
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| here lay death’s sceptre ---
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| truth untold without mercy or Chorus:
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| Love, forgiveness --- excile me,
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| blades of goodness set me free,
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| madness my destiny,
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| alone forever excile me.
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| Sharp swords,
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| bright lightnings set brave souls free,
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| past God’s blind eyes through infinity,
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| of all these vessels transformed to clay,
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| rich ashes blown to dust --- swept away!
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| Now take me steel to the gift of skies,
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| deliver me from weakness from this flesh that rides.
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| Whithout pity or Repeat Chorus
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| Ooh to think how pleasant your touch would be,
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| in that all my lovely limbs would fall away,
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| and drop into nothing in their soft decay.
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| Unto my frail heart,
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| the worms shall find a door,
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| enter the weary pulp --- into the core! |