under the parasol, the magistrate sings the madrigal and shields his face
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from the man who sells his madness by way of the gun -
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outside the manner yard on the crippled street
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young girls sell their bodies for bread to eat
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stare the corner down and say so we meet again
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but somewhere the people rise and break out in song
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their voices are carrying them, and i would but the feet on my souls are
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gone from the night they came in
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they came in trucks with their iron wrath
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driving this country to it's dying breath
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but it's never enough for the tyrant and his cattle
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let it go
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and there he sits, the self-crowned-king, in his bird bath, just rearranging his things
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when he hears the songs high over head
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he glares at the sky in his disbelief
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throws a fit and splashes the bath empty and orders his generals to aim higher
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let it go
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Let It Go
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State Radio |