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A monk with a hard-on and a lavender robe |
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That scratches his thighs through the hat that he strode |
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As he follows a path filled with every desire |
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And mimics his footsteps and sets his prayers on fire |
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Well I too have chosen that which left no choice |
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To sing without loving, a solitary voice |
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To observe with passion each careful denial: |
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The protrusions which give my life meaning for a while |
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Sometimes I see you in berries and weeds |
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You're brushing your teeth with liquorice seeds |
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Standing too close, pulling your clothes |
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Smiling at God and the meaning of life grows |
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No and I'll never tell and I'll never know |
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What candles you light after the show |
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And I'll never tell and I'll never ask |
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The meaning of life after mass |