| «Make me an instrument of your peace»
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| That’s what she said when the smoke bore silence
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| When all the fighting slowed
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| When touching skin was still
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| Not close enough to find the soldiers nearby
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| 'said, «Make me an instrument of your peace
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| Your peace as kind as an air raid siren»
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| She cursed the dawn, still and cold
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| And said it’s better to feel
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| Another person than do no violence
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| She said: «When your bullets are gone
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| And you still can’t connect
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| With the one you love
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| I’ll be your bayonet»
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| I showed her chessboards and cathedrals
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| Translating oceans into bishops' footsteps
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| That space between us glows
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| And passion means to kill
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| And bones are no more than myths of doctors
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| But with her hands I planted saplings
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| And with her axe, saw them grow then crumble
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| Where every sparrow’s nest
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| Cast off its eggs like sandbags
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| As it flew to heaven
|
| She said: «When your bullets are gone
|
| And you still can’t connect
|
| With the one you love
|
| I’ll be your bayonet
|
| And when your cover is blown
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| Your hiding place is found
|
| I will be your revealer
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| Deep underground»
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| She’s the rays from the sky
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| Burning cancer to skin
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| She’s the jurist who smiles
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| Convicting Anne Boleyn
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| She’s a feast without end
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| Bursting all who partake
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| And when I raise that white flag
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| Then the war starts again |