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In Held Twas In I
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Procol Harum
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1
In the darkness of the night, only occasionally relieved by glimpses of Nirvana as seen through other people's windows, wallowing in a morass of self-despair made only more painful by the knowledge that all I am is of my own making ...
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When everything around me, even the kitchen ceiling, has collapsed and crumbled without warning. And I am left, standing alive and well, looking up and wondering why and wherefore.
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At a time like this, which exists maybe only for me, but is nonetheless real, if I can communicate, and in the telling and the bearing of my soul anything is gained, even though the words which I use are pretentious and make you cringe with embarrassment, let me remind you of the pilgrim who asked for an audience with the Dalai Lama.
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He was told he must first spend five years in contemplation. After the five years, he was ushered into the Dalai Lama's presence, who said, 'Well, my son, what do you wish to know?' So the pilgrim said, 'I wish to know the meaning of life, father.'
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And the Dalai Lama smiled and said, 'Well my son, life is like a beanstalk, isn't it?'
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Held close by that which some despise
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which some call fake, and others lies
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And somewhat small
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for one so tall
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a doubting Thomas who would be?
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It's written plain for all to see
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for one who I am with no more
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it's hard at times, it's awful raw
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They say that Jesus healed the sick and helped the poor
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and those unsure
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believed his eyes
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- a strange disguise
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Still write it down, it might be read
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nothing's better left unsaid
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only sometimes, still no doubt
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it's hard to see, it all works out
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'Twas tea-time at the circus: King Jimi, he was there
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Through hoops he skipped, high wires he tripped, and all the while the glare
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of the aching, baking spotlight beat down upon his cloak
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and though the crowd clapped furiously they could not see the joke
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'Twas tea-time at the circus, though some might not agree
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as jugglers danced, and horses pranced and clowns clowned endlessly
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But trunk to tail the elephants quite silent, never spoke
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and though the crowd clapped desperately they could not see the joke
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In the autumn of my madness when my hair is turning grey
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for the milk has finally curdled and I've nothing left to say
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When all my thoughts are spoken (save my last departing birds)
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bring all my friends unto me and I'll strangle them with words
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In the autumn of my madness which in coming won't be long
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for the nights are now much darker and the daylight's not so strong
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and the things which I believed in are no longer quite enough
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for the knowing is much harder and the going's getting rough
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I know if I'd been wiser this would never have occurred
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but I wallowed in my blindness so it's plain that I deserve
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for the sin of self-indulgence when the truth was writ quite clear
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I must spend my life amongst the dead who spend their lives in fear
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of a death that they're not sure of, of a life they can't control
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It's all so simple really if you just look to your soul
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Some say that I'm a wise man, some think that I'm a fool
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It doesn't matter either way: I'll be a wise man's fool
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For the lesson lies in learning and by teaching I'll be taught
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for there's nothing hidden anywhere, it's all there to be sought
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And so if you know anything look closely at the time
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at others who remain untrue and don't commit that crime
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