| At the end of the revelry there was a strange silence in the air
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| Someone brayed less arrogant and someone else grunted softly
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| At the fashion shows of the designers, people transgressed with less joy
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| And in those satiated and overwhelmed faces pulsed a shadow of disease
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| A forced scoop craftsman wrote that Weimar could already be seen
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| And among sponsored cookies, I saw an anchorman crying
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| And then the fog descended in banks and the barometer marked storm
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| We woke up older and tired, bitter in the mouth, rim to the head
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| On Ash Wednesday they confessed to us for good or bad
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| That the party was now over, Carnival is now far away
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| And they proclaimed penance and went around in sackcloth
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| Burping austere: "it takes patience, siempre adelante, but with juicio" And they made vows with shrewd faces to Our Lady of Hypocrisy
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| For one hand to wash the other, all guilty and so be it
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| And menacing and a little praying incense they scattered to their god
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| Always accusing, always looking for the person responsible, certainly not me
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| The Sunday of mid-Lent was a procession of state ether
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| From the whoremongers at several inches, from the crafty ones of «who gave, gave
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| And they echoed every night like pattering to death
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| Amen, Mea Culpa and Miserere, but not even a dog that has risen
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| And the horsemen of tigers by the hour and the trumpeters without restraint
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| They starched a new modesty, shined a new indignation
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| We went to the first with chaste luxury and the quizzes paid sober millions
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| And in public there was an ebb to make us good again
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| So Sunday after Sunday was a really dark season
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| That long month of Lent the hyena laughed, the she-wolf howled
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| Comet stars and other wonders facilitated conversions
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| White mills turned gray, white lambs certain former lions
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| Only the few who were pissed said it was the used step
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| Made by the usual ones who marched there and then always put it back there, in
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| Bass
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| Then everything was silent, he was right, the sky calmed down, the sea settled
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| Only someone in resurrection, slowly, in silence, returned to think |