| The difficulties of my story:
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| Despite discomforts, despite myself, I
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| I reaffirm my endless devotion
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| To the belief that we’re all of value
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| We’re all of virtue, and so inclined we
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| Fill up our cups and toast to each other
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| And though I listen to the arguments
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| That most divergent systems employ to
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| Debilitate us, delineate us
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| Repackage our words, demystify us
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| I unceasingly affirm my love can
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| Cannot be measured, cannot be altered
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| I know, I know it, I do affirm it
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| With overzealous obscurantism
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| With every word and with every gesture
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| I must express it. |
| I can’t define it
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| But all the same I know I can describe it:
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| I walk o’er bridges and see the river
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| A marble statue the sun has weather’d
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| The stubbornness of the overgrowth and
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| The old memorials covered in snow. |
| We’ve
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| Written the way the universe will go
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| A righteous white horse, a man with a bow
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| A sharpened bit of the mistletoe
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| Scissors of fate or the fire of Surtur
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| Though we’re divided, the force of nature
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| Will put us all in the ground together
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| (This morning I must get up
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| To see the world around me
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| Right away, what I forgot
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| In seeing ourselves as words upon a paper.)
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| The sun is up
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| My arms are wide
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| I am a good man, I am yours |