| I am not he, nor master, nor lord
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| No crown to wear, no cross to bear in stations
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| I am not he, nor shall be, warlord of nations
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| These heroes have run before me
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| Now dead upon the flesh piles, see?
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| Waiting for their promised resurrection, there is none
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| Nothing but the marker, crown or cross, in stone upon these graves
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| Promise of the ribbon was all it took
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| Where only the strap would leave it’s mark upon these slaves
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| What flag to thrust into this flesh
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| Rag, bandage, mop in their flowing death
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| Taken aside, they were pointed a way, for god, queen and country
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| Now in silence they lie
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| They ran beside these masters, children of sorrow
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| As slaves to that trilogy they had no future
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| They believed in democracy, freedom of speech
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| Yet dead on the flesh piles
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| I hear no breath, I hear no hope, no whisper of faith
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| From those who have died for some others' privilege
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| Out from your palaces, princes and queens
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| Out from your churches, you clergy, you christs
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| I’ll neither live nor die for your dreams
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| I’ll make no subscription to your paradise
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| I’ll make no subscription to your paradise
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| I’ll make no subscription to your paradise
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| I’LL MAKE NO SUBSCRIPTION TO YOUR PARADISE… |