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I ask that you return me |
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The years |
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I did ignore thee |
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And with my burden bury |
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The weight of guilt |
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I carry 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 |
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I have murdered me |
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And I cannot fake what |
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I tried to make of myself - a |
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God Please heal me |
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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 |
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I have murdered me and |
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I cannot fake - please heal me |
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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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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 |