| Failed endangered heffalump
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| Galumphing round the old gazump
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| Between the king my brother’s wreck
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| And the king my father’s death
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| Don’t tell him he is the Fisher King
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| Don’t tell him he is the Fisher King
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| Since I got wounded in the cock
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| This our land begins to rot
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| Instead of fixing your mistakes
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| I sit fishing by the lake
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| All the little Parsifals coming to fix me
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| Burn their beasts and offerings and men in effigy
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| Something sweet is broken inside of me
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| Something was the compass that guided me
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| Some great spear has knackered the groin of me
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| I can’t feel the dagger of ecstasy
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| Surely there cannot be something wrong
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| Surely I am not the Fisher King
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| Don’t tell him he is the Fisher King
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| Don’t tell him he is the Fisher King
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| I lost the magic soup tureen
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| That resurrects the dead
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| And so I asked my followers to sever my head
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| My head kept talking endlessly
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| Kept everyone amused
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| All the way to Wimbledon
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| With modish racist views
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| All the little Parsifals attempting to cure me
|
| Burn their beasts and offerings and men in effigy
|
| Something sweet is broken inside of me
|
| Something was the compass that guided me
|
| Some great spear has knackered the groin of me
|
| I can’t feel the d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-dagger of ecstasy
|
| Something sweet is broken inside of me
|
| Something was the compass that guided me
|
| Some great spear has knackered the groin of me
|
| I can’t feel the dagger of ecstasy
|
| Have I now become the Fisher King? |