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The rain falls down on last year's man, |
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that's a jew's harp on the table, |
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that's a crayon in his hand. |
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And the corners of the blueprint are ruined since they rolled |
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far past the stems of thumbtacks |
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that still throw shadows on the wood. |
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And the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend |
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and all the rain falls down amen |
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on the works of last year's man. |
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I met a lady, she was playing with her soldiers in the dark |
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oh one by one she had to tell them |
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that her name was Joan of Arc. |
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I was in that army, yes I stayed a little while; |
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I want to thank you, Joan of Arc, |
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for treating me so well. |
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And though I wear a uniform I was not born to fight; |
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all these wounded boys you lie beside, |
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goodnight, my friends, goodnight. |
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I came upon a wedding that old families had contrived; |
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Bethlehem the bridegroom, |
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Babylon the bride. |
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Great Babylon was naked, oh she stood there trembling for me, |
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and Bethlehem inflamed us both |
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like the shy one at some orgy. |
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And when we fell together all our flesh was like a veil |
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that I had to draw aside to see |
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the serpent eat its tail. |
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Some women wait for Jesus, and some women wait for Cain |
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so I hang upon my altar |
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and I hoist my axe again. |
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And I take the one who finds me back to where it all began |
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when Jesus was the honeymoon |
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and Cain was just the man. |
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And we read from pleasant Bibles that are bound in blood and skin |
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that the wilderness is gathering |
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all its children back again. |
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The rain falls down on last year's man, |
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an hour has gone by |
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and he has not moved his hand. |
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But everything will happen if he only gives the word; |
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the lovers will rise up |
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and the mountains touch the ground. |
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But the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend |
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and all the rain falls down amen |
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on the works of last year's man. |