| When we lie white in our mourning slumber
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| When our skin smells of sun
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| The filthy mass that moves and talks
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| Is swept into the sea, is gone
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| When we are naked, when we’re on fire
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| When we render secret tribute to
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| This pain we fake, this blue desire
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| Love is still our craving and our shame
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| When they come to me
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| Laughing and howling
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| When they thrust their anguish into me
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| And lick the blood as it runs down
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| They don’t give place to youthful bloom
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| Not then, not now
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| In the leaves of blood, in the life of the tribe
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| I am dead to all the world
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| Except when the noises sleep or hide |