| Am I of stone or flesh
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| To see You slain again
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| To watch you writhe and bleed
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| Yet never once weep
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| I always thought that I would have fought had I been alive
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| I would have stay to the end, wept at Your feet, and died by Your side
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| Yet again they beat You down and tear You
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| Limb from limb
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| But I keep my peace and my distance
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| How can I claim to love You
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| When here Your body lies strewn
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| I dwell amongst the pieces
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| And never feel moved
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| To grieve as my own, the state of it
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| And give more than just passive dissent
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| I swore at the start, «oh heart of my heart», we’re one in the same
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| But then I kept You confined, and clearly defined, and now I don’t feel a thing
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| Yet again, they beat You down
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| And tear You limb from limb
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| And we wash our hands then
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| Raise them up in remembrance
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| «bless You Lord, leave us be, rest in peace»
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| You’re not a memory we celebrate
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| You’re not a martyr that we venerate
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| And God forgive us if the church forgets
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| You are not a corpse and we’re not a movement
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| You’re alive and we’re the flesh You’ll wear till the worlds end
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| Resurrect
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| Resurrect
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| I feel the weight and worth in all of this
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| That we are Your embodiment
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| Resurrect theses hearts of stone
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| To beat with Yours again
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| For greater works as we
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| Walk as one in Your likeness
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| So that men can behold and believe
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| You are not a corpse and we’re not a movement
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| You’re alive and we’re the flesh You’ll wear till the worlds end |