| Momma, momma forget your pies
|
| Have faith they won’t get cold
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| And turn your eyes to the bloodshot sky
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| Your flag is flying full at half-mast
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| For the matadors who turned their backs to please the crowd
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| And all fell before the bull
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| Red was the color of his blood flowing thin
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| Pallid white was the color of his lifeless skin
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| Blue was the color of the morning sky
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| He saw looking up from the ground where he died
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| It was the last thing ever seen by him
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| Kyrie Eleison
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| Momma, momma forget your pies
|
| Have faith they won’t get cold
|
| And turn your eyes to the bloodshot sky
|
| Your flag is flying full at half-mast
|
| For the matadors who turned their backs to please the crowd
|
| And all fell before the bull
|
| Black and white were the figures that recorded him
|
| Black and white was the newsprint he was mentioned in
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| Black and white was the question that so bothered him
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| He never asked, he was taught not to ask
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| But was on his lips as they buried him
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| Rex Tremendae Majestatis
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| Requiem aeternum, requiem aeternum |