| On the mountain tall
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| Whisper to me words in a voice so small
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| Like the one that to Elijah called
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| Quiet as a candle and bright as the morning sun
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| Though the fire and wind
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| Shattered down the hills with a rage unbent
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| And a fear that shook the firmament
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| He was not within them, the clatter of brass and drums
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| I know you want me to be afraid
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| I know you want me to love you
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| I know you want me to be afraid
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| I know you want me to love you
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| Still the wild wind blows
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| Up out of the grave of an angry ghost
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| Firing bricks from broken canon and prose
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| To build a wall so high it reaches the heavens in the sky
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| I know you want me to be afraid
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| I know you want me to love you
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| I know you want me to be afraid
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| I know you want me to love you
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| Still you beat your drums
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| Raising holy war with every strum
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| Shouting down the quiet kingdom come
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| Brushing at your fingers, hoping you’ll come around |