In the morning that’s cold,
see the woman that’s old.
She will show you a man that’s blue,
and tell you a story that’s true.

Entreat the girl that’s fair,
ask a question that’s bare.
She’ll take you to the room that’s sought,
and read you the letter that’s wrought.

Take the money that’s there,
shut the conscience that’s rare.
Blind yourself from the voice that’s proud,
listen to the pocket that’s loud.

Build a house that’s secure,
shelter the child that’s pure.
It will hide from pain that’s fear,
protect you from a fate that’s dear.

Go to the land that’s vast,
talk to the crowd that’s massed.
Veil them from the truth that’s denied,
only tell them the lie that’s kind.

Ask the question that’s hard,
get an answer that’s marred.
You will give them the news that’s clear,
tell them of the danger that’s near.

Put on the mask that’s grey,
convince the man that’s gay.
Hide from the history that’s past,
and wait for the future that’s cast.

Find the chamber that’s lost,
bring the treasure that’s glossed.
You will build a palace that’s grand,
and escape from a life that’s bland.



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