His voice in the sky is the sound that you hear.
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His timbre is dim and his motives aren’t clear.
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Why does the prophet above have so much to fear?
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Things aren’t always the way they appear.
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He’s a horn with a slanted tone,
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He’s the back without the bone.
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The king sits on a crooked throne,
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Stuck inside of the story alone.
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When he raised a trumpet to his mouth
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The sound of every voice tumbled out.
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When he stretched the canvas into his frame
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He painted everyone with the same brush.
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He has the whole world by a string
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And he tells the choir when to sing.
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He’s a shadow in the sky.
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He’s a horn with a slanted tone,
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He’s the back without the bone.
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The king sits on a crooked throne,
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Stuck inside of the story alone.
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His description of truth has the pages torn.
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His inscription of roses are just the thorns.
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His scripture is ripped from the back of his hand.
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The scribe’s wish is the subject’s command.
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He’s a horn with a slanted tone,
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He’s the back without the bone.
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The king sits on a crooked throne,
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Stuck inside of the story alone.
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When he raised a trumpet to his mouth
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The sound of every voice tumbled out.
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When he stretched the canvas into his frame
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He painted everyone with the same brush.
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He has the whole world by a string
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And he tells the choir when to sing.
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He’s a shadow in the sky.
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I’m witnessing things I never thought I’d see.
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There’s a darkness now I could not foresee.
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An innocent man resigned to a plea.
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A company in captivity by a narrator’s desire
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To be free from the confines of an honest story.
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It all seems so surreal but between you and me,
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There’s a light at the end of the tale
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So you’ll see that the way things are now
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Aren’t the way they’ll always be.
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How can I let them know, the truth about Octavio?
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That he was lying all along.
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Don’t trust the words you hear in a song. |