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Your class, your caste, your country, sect, your name or your tribe |
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There's people always dying trying to keep them alive |
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There are bodies decomposing in containers tonight |
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In an abandoned building where |
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A squatter's made a mural of a Mexican girl |
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With fifteen cans of spray paint in a chemical swirl |
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She's standing in the ashes at the end of the world |
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Four winds blowing through her hair |
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But when great Satan's gone, the whore of Babylon |
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She just can't sustain the pressure where it's placed |
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She caves, she caves |
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The Bible's blind, the Torah's deaf, the Koran is mute |
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If you burned them all together you'd be close to the truth still |
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They're poring over Sanskrit under Ivy League moons |
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While shadows lengthen in the sun |
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Cast on a school of meditation built to soften the times |
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And hold us at the center while the spiral unwinds |
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It's knocking over fences, crossing property lines |
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Four winds cry until it comes |
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And it's the sum of man |
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Slouching towards Bethlehem |
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A heart just can't contain all of that empty space |
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It breaks, it breaks, IT BREAKS |
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Well, I went back to my rented Cadillac and company jet |
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Like a newly orphaned refugee, retracing my steps |
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All the way to Cassadaga to commune with the dead |
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They said, "You'd better look alive" |
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And I was off to old Dakota where a genocide sleeps |
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In the black hills, the bad lands, the calloused east |
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I buried my ballast, I made my peace |
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Heard four winds leveling the pines |
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But when great Satan's gone, the whore of Babylon |
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She just can't remain with all that outer space |
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She breaks, she breaks, she caves, she caves, she breaks |
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"You'd better look alive" |