| Tell me, tell me you don’t mean to say
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| That you intend to steer this vessel
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| Out beyond the breaking waves —
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| You don’t expect you’ll spare the lives
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| Of those who brought you all this way?
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| Your ambling, rambling letters no longer surprise
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| I was a fool to think Joanna could escape your roving eye
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| And it’s true, you strike me as less godlike
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| With no son to crucify
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| We’ll be north of no direction
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| By the time we find the war
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| By the time we find the war
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| Your descent into madness was all of you we had;
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| It took a barrel and three dancers to coerce you back to bed
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| When you’d come bursting from your quarters
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| With the dagger Daddy held
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| Our beloved tyrant — no mother and no end
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| To those of us warned to prevent your doubtful tales of origin
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| From falling in among historians who’d love to do you in
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| We’ll be north of no direction
|
| By the time we find the war
|
| By the time we find the war
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| What you need is a private army; |
| what you need is an hourly girl
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| Tell me, tell me, tell me — where’s the family priest?
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| He watched us march the old man’s stern to bow before the mutiny
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| Should we divvy up his body now, or save him for the feast? |