| There once was a man who just couldn’t cry
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| He hadn’t cried for years and for years
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| Napalmed babies and the movie Love Story
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| For instance, could not produce tears
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| As a child he had cried as all children will
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| Then at some point his tear ducts ran dry
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| He grew to be a man, the feces hit the fan
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| Things got bad, but he couldn’t cry
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| His dog was run over, his wife up and left him
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| And after that he got sacked from his job
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| Lost his arm in the war, was laughed at by a whore
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| Ah, but still not a sniffle or sob
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| His novel was refused, his movie was panned
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| And his big Broadway show was a flop
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| He got sent off to jail; |
| you guessed it, no bail
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| Oh, but still not a dribble or drop
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| In jail he was beaten, bullied and buggered
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| And made to make license plates
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| Water and bread was all he was fed
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| But not once did a tear stain his face
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| Doctors were called in, scientists, too
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| Theologians were last and practically least
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| They all agreed sure enough; |
| this was sure no cream puff
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| But in fact an insensitive beast
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| He was removed from jail and placed in a place
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| For the insensitive and the insane
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| He played lots of chess and made lots of friends
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| And he wept every time it would rain
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| Once it rained forty days and it rained forty nights
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| And he cried and he cried and he cried and he cried
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| On the forty-first day, he passed away
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| He just dehydrated and died
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| Well, he went up to heaven, located his dog
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| Not only that, but he rejoined his arm
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| Down below, all the critics, they took it all back
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| Cancer robbed the whore of her charm
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| His ex-wife died of stretch marks, his ex-employer went broke
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| The theologians were finally found out
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| Right down to the ground, that old jail house burned down
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| The earth suffered perpetual drought |