| Saint Leonard touched a Philistine
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| A sacred tongue, a perfect rhyme
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| But even he was «not much nourished
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| By modern love.»
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| So I told her that everything she does is divine
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| And she replied with a blank expression
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| (an object lesson in making me feel benign)
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| Then whispered, «Independence and indifference
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| Are the wings which allow the heart to fly.»
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| Feelings I have had too often
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| Still no plan in place
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| To soften the inevitable blow
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| (the rituals we know)
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| And with the right revolting piety of tone
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| The word «freedom»
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| Can make you want to lock yourself
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| In a deep dark dungeon
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| But everybody follows pleasure
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| Everybody gets somewhere, I swear
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| I wish I could be less aware
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| Now it’s absolutely clear to me
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| That solitude is not the same as singularity
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| But that’s not why I’m lonely
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| No, that’s not why I’m lonely |