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Young Man, |
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Please take the stands, |
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Don't still your tongue, |
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For those you talk to try to sell you out. |
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Young Man, |
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Please understand, |
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On heads of martyrs rests a message. |
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You're the plank of wood in the plaintiff's eye, |
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Another kerosene depiction of the price |
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Paid to burn a fool and raise empires, boy, |
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On heads of martyrs rests a message. |
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So please, address the crowd, |
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It seems that no one now is leaving here until |
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Every stone has had its say. |
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(As coats drop, |
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Accusers stalk, |
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And every stone meets its mark.) |
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Yet don't recant, we can,t recant; |
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Through death we gain an audience |
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Of open ears and open eyes, |
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For nothing speaks as loud, lay down your life. |
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You will yet be made |
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A soldier's souls of saints, |
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Rise up and be the same, |
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For to lose your life is gain. |
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So please address the crowded streets |
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From every stage that turns into an urn |
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For every heretic that's burned. |
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Rise up and lay down your life. |
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Young Man, |
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Please take the stands, |
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Don't still your tongue, |
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For those you talk to try to sell you out. |
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With eyes set like cameras, |
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And knives held behind their backs |
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They're watching, |
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They're watching you |