| Master Shaman, I have come
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| With my dolly from the shadow side
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| With a demon and an Englishman
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| I’m my mother, I’m my son
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| Nobody is slipping the blade in easy
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| Nobody is slipping the blade in the marmalade
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| But all the angels and all the wizards black and white
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| Are lighting candles in our hands
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| Can you feel them? |
| Yes, touching hands before our eyes
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| And I can even see sweet Marianne
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| Sister Janet, you have come
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| From the woman clothed with the sun
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| Your veil is quietly becoming none
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| Call the wanderer, he has gone
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| And all those up there are making it look so easy
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| With your perfect wings, a wing can cover all sorts of things
|
| And all the angels and all the wizards black and white
|
| Are lighting candles in our hands
|
| Can you feel them? |
| Yes, touching hands before our eyes
|
| And I can even see sweet Marianne
|
| Hey, yes, this again
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| Well, I think I could try this once again |