| Just look at that shopkeeper peddling his wares
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| Shouting his sales pitch, but nobody cares
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| Don’t you wonder what keeps him there, day after day?
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| Begging for gold as his hair turns to gray
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| Blindly they’re bounding apace
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| Starving for mercy in a merciless place
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| Only a fool would make martyrs from heathens
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| And find them so lively when they’re barely breathing
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| Just barely breathing
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| Just look at that toymaker grinding his gears
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| Turning no profit but he doesn’t care
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| He keep smiles on faces day after day
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| The children keep sadness and suffering at bay
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| Blissfully bounding apace
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| Searching for mercy in a merciless place
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| Only a monster makes fodder from saints
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| And finds them so worthless when they’re full of grace
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| So full of grace
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| But what better use of hookers and thieves
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| Than greasing the wheels of perfect machines
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| That hum into life a harmony of industry?
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| But what is the use of cutting them down
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| To smother and choke the soul of our town?
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| I know there is another way
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| But, what is so wrong with giving them purpose?
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| (Just how could you weed them out?)
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| (Degrading them without doubt)
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| A man like yourself could give worth to the worthless
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| (You're bleeding them dry)
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| (They live and die like you and I)
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| Without the guidance of rulers and tyrants
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| (And under your guidance; the hands of a tyrant)
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| These people will just tear themselves apart
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| Just look at that charlatan steeped in deceit
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| A threat to the young
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| To the old and the meek
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| Don’t you wonder what made him
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| So vicious, so sick?
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| So far out of balance?
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| So cruel and so callous?
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| So married to malice? |