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And who will write love songs for you
When I am Lord at last
And your body is the little highway shrine
That all my priests have passed
That all my priests have passed?

My priests, they will put flowers there
They will kneel before the glass
But they'll wear away your little window, love
They will trample on the grass
They will trample on the grass

And who will shoot the arrow
That men will follow through your grace
When I am Lord of memories
And all your armor has turned to lace
And all your armor has turned to lace?

The simple life of heroes
The twisted life of saints
They just confuse the sunny calendar
With their red and golden paint
With their red and golden paint

And all of you have seen the dance
That God has kept from me
But he has seen me watching you
When all your minds were free
When all your minds were free

And who will write love songs for you
When I am Lord at last
And your body is the little highway shrine
That all my priests have passed
That all my priests have passed?

My priests, they will put flowers there
They will stand before the glass
But they'll wear away your little window, love
They will trample on the grass
They will trample on the grass
And who will write love songs for you   When I am Lord at last   And your body is the little highway shrine   That all my priests have passed   That all my priests have passed?      My priests, they will put flowers there   They will kneel before the glass   But they'll wear away your little window, love   They will trample on the grass   They will trample on the grass      And who will shoot the arrow   That men will follow through your grace   When I am Lord of memories   And all your armor has turned to lace   And all your armor has turned to lace?      The simple life of heroes   The twisted life of saints   They just confuse the sunny calendar   With their red and golden paint   With their red and golden paint      And all of you have seen the dance   That God has kept from me   But he has seen me watching you   When all your minds were free   When all your minds were free      And who will write love songs for you   When I am Lord at last   And your body is the little highway shrine   That all my priests have passed   That all my priests have passed?      My priests, they will put flowers there   They will stand before the glass   But they'll wear away your little window, love   They will trample on the grass   They will trample on the grass