| There’s blood in these streets of revolution
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| Of distant warriors, distant kings
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| Ages old have wrapped their mysteries
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| In legends worn like magic rings
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| I’m no priest and I’m no prophet
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| Neither monk nor modern man
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| I’m no shepherd, I’m no warrior
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| And I’m unsure of my own land
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| Oh God my song is but a whisper
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| And I don’t know if I can shout
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| But if you truly are inside me
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| Be my courage when I doubt
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| Maybe every song starts small
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| From a whisper to a cry
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| Maybe we’re all shepherd warriors
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| Or maybe lions, you and I
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| Be my voice when I tremble
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| Be my strength when I’m weak
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| Be my path in the darkness
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| And every word I speak
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| I’d rather stumble than fear the whiskey
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| I’d rather bleed than fear the rod
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| For you are King of my companions:
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| The weak, the broken, and the flawed
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| Lead me, Father, to the Pharaohs
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| And put your Spirit on my tongue
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| Guide me, Father, from the desert
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| Let not your song remain unsung
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| Be my voice when I tremble
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| Be my strength when I’m weak
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| Be my path in the darkness
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| And every word I speak
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| Be my voice when I tremble
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| Be my strength when I’m weak
|
| Be my path in the darkness
|
| And every word I speak
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| Be my voice when I tremble
|
| Be my strength when I’m weak
|
| Be my path in the darkness
|
| And every word I speak |