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2001-08-00 Z612

There's this man and he walks like a broken old bird,
And he's known from the sounds of his shackles
That rattle and bang as they hang from his back,
Like an Emperor's robe for the stricken.
His blood it runs thicker than wax, and it bleeds far
Colder and Blacker than midwinter nights, where
Splinters of heat hit his heart they are beaten and
Broken apart by the might of his fear.

There's this girl, she is near to my heart
In the strangest of ways.
She is near to my sense of religion. There is
Always some lousy division these days,
Between the mind and the body. But my
feeling for her comes from deeper down still...
It begins in the pit,
with fear and devotion beside it.

I want to protect her from all of the world,
And its claws, and her claws, and the
Jaws of self loathing that loom and are
closing around like a tomb.

The pain of the people I love is as vast and as
Thirsty as valleys of death who call to our
Lord: "Give us rain for our earth." And the
Souls of the people I love are like birds that won't
Come and be caught by the words of some clumsy Neanderthal.

I'm a poor foolish fucker to think I'm a doctor.
I only misread all the symptoms.