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We wane in remembrance, |
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Drained by our scorn. |
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The flocks of the patriarch throttled, |
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Forlorn. |
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We gasp with epiphany, |
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Perception unmasked. |
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Ranks of black muslin litter out path. |
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Empyrian empties, |
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On our woeful malaise, |
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Engulfs and entwines our impious parade. |
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These are the embers, |
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The fetid ideal, |
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The end of our chastity, |
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Allow us to feel. |
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Nerves remain tender, |
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To touch makes us cry. |
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We see through these windows now become eyes. |
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Our burden is heavy, |
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As we ascend. |
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Like blemished flesh, |
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The earth seems to rent. |
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Pustules of faces, |
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Mouths like crevasse, |
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Our weathered coherence lost to morass. |
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Our debts are paid to this epoch, |
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Sanctimonious, |
|
No remorse. |
|
The king is dead! |
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The king is dead! |
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We bound his face! |
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Cut off his head! |
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We spit at thee, |
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We curse at thee, |
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The king is dead! |
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Brothers and sisters, |
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The king is dead! |
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Cut him down, |
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Flay his skin, |
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Our god is dead! |
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Courtisans! |
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Compatriots! |
|
Lend me your ears, |
|
We slayed this demagogue, |
|
Dragged it to its knees. |
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We cut all the sycophants, |
|
Deafened their call, |
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We gave back the willing to better us all. |
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We will not go quiet, |
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We will not be restrained, |
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We will not be slaves to an impotent regieme. |
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Mark this in remembrance, |
|
The turning of tides. |
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Our nascent republic, |
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Born of [his] demise. |
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The nativity! |
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Our elegy! |
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To this reform! |