| Wars are raising for her
|
| Crusades to adore her
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| The light of your afterword
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| Are you losing her true nature
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| When you loosen nomenclature
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| When you gift another moniker?
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| What’s true is like a sickle
|
| It’ll cut you to the middle
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| That your rose is without a thorn
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| But no, my mouth don’t taste of metal
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| From the pot here to the kettle
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| I think we got a lot we gotta learn
|
| And even though by any other name
|
| Her scent would linger sweetly, all the same
|
| Call her briar long enough
|
| And you’ll tangle up the true and the fable
|
| Your dowry, it ain’t fooling
|
| The pyrite is showing through
|
| It won’t buy you that empty tomb
|
| And no alchemic incantation
|
| For a counterfeit salvation
|
| Can appease your leviathan groom
|
| No, love’ll get you slaughtered
|
| Like a ram at the altar
|
| What is safe ain’t the same as what is good
|
| So lay compress to the aching
|
| Of your body made for breaking
|
| We’ve got a lot of breaking left to do
|
| Cause even under any other creed
|
| The crucifix and the hangman — they both agree
|
| Change comes so cheaply
|
| For those of us already at the table |