| We were called to the forest,
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| and we went down.
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| A wind wind blew warm and eloquent,
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| We were searching for the secrets of the universe,
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| we rounded up demons and forced them
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| to tell us what it all meant.
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| We tied them to trees,
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| and broke them down, one by one.
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| On a scrap of paper they wrote these words:
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| (And as we read them, the sun broke,
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| through the trees.)
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| «Dread the passage of Jesus, for he will not return.»
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| Then we headed back to our world,
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| and left the forest behind,
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| our hearts singing with all the knowledge of love.
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| But somewhere, somehow, we lost the message,
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| along the way,
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| and when we got home, we bought ourselves a house.
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| And we bought a car that we did not use,
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| And we bought a cage, and two singing birds.
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| And at night we’d sit and listen to the canary song.
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| For we’d both run right out of words.
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| Now the stars they are all angled wrong,
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| and the sun and the moon refuse to burn.
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| But I remember a message,
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| in a demon’s hand,
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| «Dread the passage of Jesus, for he does not return.»
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| …he does not return
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| …he does not return |