| I ask that you return me The years I did ignore thee
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| And with my burden bury
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| The weight of guilt I carry
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| And lead me to the well of life
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| Before my soul departs
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| Now I so clearly see how I have murdered me And I cannot fake what I tried to make of myself — a God
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| Please heal me The halls of countless eriudite teeming with the self deified
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| Cloaked in snuffy habiliments
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| No need to strive for holiness
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| When beauty dies she leaves behind the scars of dreams abandoned long ago
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| Where myriad wonders once repelled the onslaught of decay
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| Now given to the manifold miseries of mortal dismay
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| And out of joy is sorrow born the stained white halls are now forlorn
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| Wisdom calls from these halls
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| Now I so clearly see how I have murdered me and I cannot fake — please heal
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| me So very wise in their own eyes
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| The world’s great minds will one day find
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| That for life they studied, worked, and pined
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| But in wisdom made by man alone that a high IQ with low regard
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| Will be dethroned and from heaven barred
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| Wisdom calls from these halls
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| I ask that you return me The years I did ignore thee
|
| And with my burden bury
|
| The weight of guilt I carry
|
| And lead me to the well of life
|
| Before my soul departs |