| Caravans of stolen idols cross
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| desert fire and mountains white with frost
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| dromedaries thirsty almost dumbling with fatigue
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| searching for the man whose eyes are brimming with the sun.
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| Magic man is standing at the door
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| dreaming of good days before the long bore
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| picking off the bright wings of a bee held in his hands
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| wishing he could still believe in good days yet to come.
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| Oh where is paradise?
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| I need me there
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| where’s the road to paradise?
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| Broken are the altars of the kings
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| chop them up to useful better things now
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| ticket taker escaping of the pilgrims from the gate
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| nailing in the harvest crate you feel the joy and pain.
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| Oh where is paradise?
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| I need me there.
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| where’s the road to paradise?
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| where, oh where is paradise?
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| Oh, I need me there
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| where’s the road to paradise?
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| where, oh where is paradise
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| I need me there
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| where’s the road to paradise? |