| When serpents come
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| They cover the Christ thorn
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| Two heads
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| And cock heads
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| Serpents feet of emotion
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| Lidded eyes and smudged reality
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| Everything has two faces
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| One is earthly without true form
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| The other blackened and blackening
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| And mother is in the fields
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| Father is in the fields
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| You know well its tortured form
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| It’s locked within a particular place
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| It’s locked within a particular form
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| It’s jailed by a falling light
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| With angles shapes and size
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| It’s held by true what
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| It’s held in through place
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| It’s an aim that has no name
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| Mother is in the fields
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| Father is in the fields
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| It’s a form creating formless
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| Formless creating form
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| Oh four towers reaping backwards
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| Do not spell the sound
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| Do not move to the lies
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| Speak the words and they create the universe
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| And they destroy all universe
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| Mother sleeps in the fields
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| And father he reaps in the fields
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| Heavy-lidded eyes do not mask his pain
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| They shade us from the burning light
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| Listen one face one form one truth
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| I see it through the shading glass
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| I see it fractured in the world
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| This is not true
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| It’s appearance only
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| Mother is in the fields
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| Father is in the fields
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| An eagle flies his bloody face
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| Behind bloody claws behind bloody claws
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| His pain is blackened rain
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| His rain is Roman
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| Sire the pain it is not finished
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| I happens now
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| Matchstick man in a matchstick world
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| Nake the prime slice the sickle
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| Nake the sickle slice the core
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| Time stops when he was thirty-three
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| And mother is in the fields
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| And father is in the fields
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| Time stops when i am thirty
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| Time stops then and time stops there
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| Then is now
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| Oh why do we not say it
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| Time stops time breaks time folds
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| Time ceases
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| And pestle grindes the mortar
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| The mortar turns to dust
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| The metal turns to rust
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| Words they fail they fall apart
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| The corn it dies and is reborn
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| And mother stays in the fields
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| And father is in the fields
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| Blond hair moves in the blond corn
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| Boyd wears black he talks of death
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| But all his faces spell out light’s on the roof
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| He’s kissing a rose
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| A blooddrop comes from the heart of her life
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| Something hangs above there in the skies
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| Something hovers above his brown hair
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| Life without us in the background of light
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| And the birds don’t sing
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| When the curtain snaps
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| Anita’s in Ireland
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| She’s falling over rocks
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| Stars of the sky stars of the pain
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| And all stars meet in a falling star
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| And some make money from weapons' blood
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| And some make money from fear’s blood
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| And some make money from hunger’s blood
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| And some make money from politics' blood
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| And some make money from religion’s blood
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| The world falls apart
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| The world starts to cease
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| And mother is in the fields
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| And father has died in the fields |