There’s anger in my chest
It won’t die till I’m put to rest
Call it genuine, call it jest
But it’s the blood running down my breast

I believe in everything; God
In seas and wastelands far abroad
Spare the child, spoil the rod
I believe in God so help me lord

Wheresoever are your beliefs
In chariots or in mortal thieves
In elegant trees with golden leaves
or in princes and tribal chiefs

I shall stand by my faith
tough luck ye of sorry fate
for on that day when I’d be late
will angels await at heaven’s gate



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