| In the middle of hell lies a little St. Peter
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| In a hospital bed burning up
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| With a cloth to his head, he is ridden by fever
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| And I can’t even tell whether the demons have won
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| And his mother is there with his brother tied to her back
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| Praying as hard as she can to a god in a land that I think he forgot
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| In the middle of hell where a death by mosquito
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| Is as everyday as my coffee or your cigarette
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| And she says «God bless me»
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| She says «God bless me»
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| And I shake my head
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| Cause I can’t see God in this hospital bed
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| But she says «God bless me»
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| She says «God bless me»
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| And I look away
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| But as she lets go of my hand for the first time in this place
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| I pray
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| Amen
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| Amen
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| I got plenty to give her but there’s nothing to offer
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| And the little I brought comes far too late
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| So I urge him to leave with a bottle of water
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| He is 7 years old, sleeping outside pearly gates
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| And his mother looks at me with eyes I will never let go
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| They are angry and sad beyond measure and mad with a childbearing love that I
|
| know
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| In the middle of hell we just sit with each other
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| On a hospital bed begging for death to go home
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| And she says «God bless me»
|
| She says «God bless me»
|
| And I shake my head
|
| Cause I can’t see God in this hospital bed
|
| But she says «God bless me»
|
| She says «God bless me»
|
| And I look away
|
| But as she lets go of my hand for the first time in this place
|
| I pray
|
| Amen
|
| Amen
|
| In the middle of hell lies a little St. Peter
|
| In a hospital bed burning up |