| I’m not the one you’ve read about
|
| I’m not your sanctuary seat
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| I’m not the one they’ve told you about
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| I’ve never claimed to be of your belief
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| Yet the claims keep coming
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| The elaborate stories
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| When you dig up dirt it’s your hands to be cleaned
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| And you are filthy from the grave you dig
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| I am a calloused hand from gripping the rock
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| I am short a feathered wing for the flock
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| But I’m not weathered from your weightless voices bearing witness
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| I am not a hallow sound or a glorifying light of deeds
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| And I am not a conscience found reciting lines down on my knees
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| And there’s no mistaking all of you who fake it
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| When you dig up dirt it’s your hands to be cleaned
|
| And you are filthy from the grave you dig
|
| I am a calloused hand from gripping the rock
|
| I am short a feathered wing for the flock
|
| But I’m not weathered from your weightless voices bearing witness
|
| I am a calloused hand from gripping the rock
|
| I am short a feathered wing for the flock
|
| But I’m not weathered from your weightless voices bearing witness,
|
| your weightless voices bearing witness
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| Can we not Divide?
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| I am not a barricade
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| I’m just a different way to think
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| So make no mistake
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| I’m not your profane
|
| I am a calloused hand from gripping the rock
|
| I am short a feathered wing for the flock
|
| But I’m not weathered from your weightless voices bearing witness
|
| I am a calloused hand from gripping the rock
|
| I am short a feathered wing for the flock
|
| But I’m not weathered from your weightless voices bearing witness,
|
| your weightless voices bearing witness |