| Well, I stepped into an avalanche
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| It covered up my soul
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| When I am not this hunchback that you see
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| I sleep beneath the golden hill
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| You, who wish to conquer pain
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| You must learn, learn to serve me well
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| You strike my side by accident
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| As you go down for your gold
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| The cripple here that you clothe and feed
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| Is neither starved nor cold
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| He does not ask for your company
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| Not at the center, the center of the world
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| When I am not on a pedestal
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| You did not raise me there
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| Your laws do not compel me
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| To kneel grotesque and bare
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| I, myself am the pedestal
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| For this ugly hump at which you stare
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| You who wish to conquer pain
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| You must learn what makes me kind
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| The crumbs of love that you offer me
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| They’re the crumbs I’ve left behind
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| Your pain is no credential here
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| It’s just the shadow; |
| shadow of my wound
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| I have begun to long for you
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| I, who have no greed
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| I have begun to ask for you
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| I, who have no need
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| You say you’ve gone away from me
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| But I can feel you, feel you when you breathe
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| Do not dress in those rags for me
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| I know you are not poor
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| You don’t love me quite so fiercely now
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| When you know that you are not sure
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| It is your turn, beloved
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| It is your flesh that I wear |