| If we can’t walk in love, we’re a noisy little gong
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| A bitter little song, that a bully sings out of key
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| If we can’t walk in peace, we’ll forget about the least of these
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| The mother crying on her knees for her boy who’s locked away
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| If we can’t walk in truth, we’ll be ruled by the passions of youth
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| Despised by the stupid things we do
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| We’ll never ever live them down
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| If we can’t walk in grace, we’ll be defined by the patterns of this place
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| A filthy bitter city of waste, the world will never turn around
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice crying out for truth and the simple little joys that we found
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| in youth
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| There’s a voice crying out in the streets, for the hungry and the broken to
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| taste of peace
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| There’s a voice crying out for truth and the simple little joys that we found
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| in youth
|
| There’s a voice crying out in the streets, for the hungry and the broken to
|
| taste of peace
|
| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice calling me
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| There’s a voice
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| Calling me
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| Calling me |