| In awkward times at awkward places …
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| Rogues in glitter robes, with fierce grimaces
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| Sneak around me glowering.
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| I should be running away
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| But I keep standing here in fires.
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| Sinister choirs of whip-lashing demons
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| With circling vultures in a dreadful allegiance.
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| Singing out of tune in empty words and empty phrases
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| Heard it all before from a familiar face.
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| And every tone cuts deep like rain in April
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| Every chord they form tears open the wounds
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| But today will be my day
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| When I stand up and be brave
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| Today it is me and my ire
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| Today I stand alone in fires.
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| Was my heart one of a sparrow?
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| Caged in the prospects of disbelievers' eyes
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| Was I lurking in my own shadow?
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| For a minute free of compromise?
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| So many years have passed inside the mussel
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| So many have defiled my realm
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| So many foreign tongues and unknown words
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| So many blather, and blather, and blather…
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| Awoke. |
| From sorrow’s sleep.
|
| And every tone cuts deep like rain in April
|
| And every chord they form tears open the wounds
|
| But today will be my day
|
| When I stand up and be brave
|
| Today it is me and my ire
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| Today I stand alone in fires. |