| Fruit from those, shrubs you are not allowed
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| On this land you cannot tread
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| Your nature you ought not to listen
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| In a tight rein of obedience keep your lust
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| From the river, the thirst you will not satisfy
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| All of this created for your torment
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| Trick out your eye, if it glanced
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| Cut off your hand, if ft touched
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| Pick out your, if it said
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| Cut off your ear, if it heard
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| I’ll paint the picture with promises
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| You’ll stare at it all your life
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| There was nothing behind this picture
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| Rotten frames, perishable canvas
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| You are forbidden to ask about the cause
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| Blinkers worn on your eyes so wonderful
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| I made especially for you
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| Don’t be curious, what will be next
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| For the obedient I hale another picture
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| Engraved in wood with the chisel of suffering
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| Burnt with fire of dread of emptiness
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| You will fear this view
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| Who alerts or glances outside the frames
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| Let damned be forever
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| I’ll not tell you, that it was not
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| The word became flesh, from flesh all arose
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| I was never really there
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| You wonted to met me, but it won’t happen |