| In the heart of the wood
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| In the closed forest
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| Christ appeared to mein several forms
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| One, two, three, four
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| Swastika I’m told
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| On the cliffs of Moher, I walked with Mary
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| Behind the eyes of his innocence or guile
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| The young old man talks of the brittle walls
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| That held his son pinioned pinioned pinioned
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| Mary walks on the cliffs but not on waters
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| Then Christ appeared as wind
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| Mary runs down from the high wall
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| Christ appears as flowers
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| Down long path she walks
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| Christ appears as the rubble
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| That holds the stones
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| That holds the paths
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| That holds the feet to the bones of the earth
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| Oh if she waits
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| If she waits
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| If she waits
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| If she wakes
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| Christ manifests slowly
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| As the dust on her eyes
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| Before she falls again into fields of sleep
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| I would like this anger to dissolve
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| And i wait for another
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| Revolution or revelation
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| It doesn’t too much matter
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| Whether i see blood in wheals
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| All shall be well she said
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| But not to me
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| Not to me
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| Thee skeleton of the universe
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| Barbed wire of bruised dead stars
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| Remains unmoved
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| When the mother ocean covers me
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| I rush to drown with her breakers
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| All shall be well she said
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| She said all shall be well
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| But not for me
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| But not for me |