| I stumbled on the summit’s path
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| Clumsy, clumsy
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| No paragon am I
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| I can’t even keep my shoes tied
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| I’ve been in love with Owen ever since
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| I heard the strains of Psalm 21
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| Standing between the choirs
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| As they sang, «Laudate Dominum, Laudate Dominum»
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| Damn, I wrote it down, but I left it in the pocket of my other jeans
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| Scrawled across the foolscap: «I don’t know what your devotion means
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| I don’t know what your devotion means.»
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| And up, upon the summit I can see
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| The one I worshipped as a boy
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| The Creator, The Great White Noise
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| The Great White Noise
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| Charged and charging up the ridge
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| The chests are empty, the coffers too
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| They float in the flood, and so will you, I swear, so will you
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| «Your light is spent! |
| Your light is spent!» |
| I cried
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| As I drove the iron spike into Owen’s eyes
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| The sun sped cross the plains like that cinematic moment where
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| Humanity and nature collide
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| When you think, «Everything's gonna be all right,»
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| Just before the hero gets a bullet in his side
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| Whizzing off the clifftop
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| Listening for the spatter, thirty floors below
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| Down come the vultures
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| I will not be your fuel anymore
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| Now the author has been silenced, how will they ever decipher me?
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| I hope they hear these words and are convinced
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| You never even knew me
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| I draw a bruise on your brawny shoulder
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| Scratch my fingers over your tattoos
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| The author has been removed |