| Blood gets down in my grave’s loam
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| A blade cut my tongue, when will I play again?
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| In my garden, without shedding my own blood
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| Blood explodes through my grave’s loam
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| When flesh is suffering and suffering is my flesh
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| Sensual decay of my body
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| And life, a theater of pain
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| And life, to love, to die
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| And life, for the savour of tears
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| No discretion in my prayers, my passion nailed to a black cross
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| Sister death knocks on my door for the last rites
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| A torment as a temptation, my body tied up by putrefaction
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| Resurrection in blood, for the next holy day
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| And life, as a radiance of pain
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| And life, to die and love again
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| And life to die and love until the Sunday
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| And life, for the savour of tears
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| And life !
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| For the savour of tears
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| Blood gets down on our grave’s loam
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| A blade cuts our tongues and our fingers
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| Resurrection in blood for the next holy day |