| A long time ago lived a monk
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| In dark middle ages he lived
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| He prayed to father and son
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| For the grace of an innocent life line
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| One day he went out to the woods
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| To ease all this heaviness
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| He fled from the monastery walls
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| To the silence and peace of the forest
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| Was it dark grace or was it a spell
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| For whatever you name this old legend I tell
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| The finger of God marked the monk
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| And his entire world was a ship that sunk
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| The monk reached a clearing, a well
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| He sat down to rest for a while
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| So tired he was falling asleep
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| When he woke up a strange feeling caught him
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| When he woke up the breathing was different
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| Was it dark grace or was it a spell
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| For whatever you name this old legend I tell
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| The finger of God marked the monk
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| And his entire world was a ship that sunk
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| He headed towards the monastery gate
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| He begged for entry, he knew he was late
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| The monk at the gate was unknown to him
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| Nameless fear rose, caused sweat on his skin
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| Was it dark grace or was it a spell
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| For whatever you name this old legend I tell
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| The finger of God marked the monk
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| And his entire world was a ship that sunk
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| None of the brothers remember the monk
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| Nor did he remember their faces as well
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| The abbot discovered the name of our monk
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| Noted missing one day 14 decades ago |