| I was a tourist in the Andes
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| On my way to Tiahuanaco
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| Where the balance of a weeping god
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| Faced east to the rising sun
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| But I looked out the window
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| And all I could see
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| Was the face of a girl
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| She was looking at me
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| She was begging for food
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| Then I knew I had found
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| The weeping god
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| In the face of a child
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| As she gestures with her fingers
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| Her little brother followed suit
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| And all I did was take my camera
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| So the image never fades away
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| I no longer saw the great gate of the sun
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| Nor the dawn of time when our race had begun
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| Just black eyes like starving dogs looking at me
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| A weeping god was all I’d ever see
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| And as I sat in contemplation beyond all charity
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| Losing the magic and meaning of living
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| (the earth and the stars these things are mine)
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| And when they’ve drained the earth of all resources
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| We’ll face the music still
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| For you and I shall be striking memories
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| In the thoughts of our children’s children
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| I had arrived at my destination
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| At the gate of the rising sun
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| We shall again regain in sunset that balance
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| That we left undone
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| I stared at the shacks and the shanty town mess
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| I couldn’t help but to think of the West
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| The balance was lost and my reason went wild
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| As the weeping god came alive in the child
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| I began to weep
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| And I remember the violation
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| Determination came
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| Determination, Yeah! |