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They might have burned |
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But the priests were all taking turns |
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Showing nuns what they have discerned about their bodies in the dark |
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They carried on |
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From the evening until the dawn |
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Like they should have been all along |
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Making harmless sparks instead of breaking little boys hearts |
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And God knows, if you noticed the millions of small holes |
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And ponder the weight of an apple |
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Compared to the trouble we're in |
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Then a grown men might be tempted to question his birthright |
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In front of his kids and devout wife |
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Causing the doubt to begin to spread like original sin |