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Words verbose, gory to what end do they serve? |
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Or images vivid, scarlet, horrors, absurd |
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Of shrieking sounds that evoke the legions of hell |
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The notes that you choose and the beats that you sell |
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You're not giving all the glory to Him |
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Because your artwork depicts a severed limb |
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And all the people buy into your deceit |
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Because you're keeping way too frantic a beat |
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They said to Bach three hundred years ago |
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"You work in the church there's something you should know |
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We hired you to write music that glorifies |
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But theses toccatas and fugues just simply horrify" |
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He said, "They're simply notes put together in bars |
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And why you think that's wrong I just throw up my arms" |
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Eviscerate words that evoke emetic thoughts |
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Dissect and discard what speaks of corpses in rot |
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The leprous stumps of the sick and the lame |
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The stoning of Stephen, Job's scab covered frame |
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And John the Baptist, a head on a platter |
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Remove this gorefest, why should it matter? |
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You say this place beckons evil spirits |
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But I care not what you call it |
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To me it's two hundred beats per minute |
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On tablature, I scrawled it |
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If you arrived at the site |
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Of Cavalry's scarlet fright |
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Would fears have made your feet take flight |
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And turn away from our Lord's plight? |