| Lead me to some holy place
|
| Then shut my eyes that I might taste
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| Your land your sky your sea
|
| And I’ll sing you what I see
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| Lord
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| I’ll sing you what I see
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| And when we’re in that holy place
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| Plug up my ears that I might taste
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| Our days our months our years
|
| And I’ll dance you what I hear
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| Lord
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| I’ll dance you what I hear
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| It’s the prayer of a species at war
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| With itself since the day it was born
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| O Dionysus
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| Come and wash our minds
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| Clean of wants and wishes
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| That keep us so damn far behind the eight ball
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| Always set to fight or fly
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| I fly to the pleasures of your table every night
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| Trying to make light of the battl with a buddy and a bottle of the blood of
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| Dionysus
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| Come and stain our teeth
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| With your purpl kisses
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| And help us find our way beneath the surface
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| Of each other’s ingrown lives
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| Then meet me at the cellar door
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| Where the heirs of Dionysus pour
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| The soul of time and psace
|
| And let’s play them what we taste
|
| Lord
|
| Let’s play them what we taste |