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Music © 2006 by EZamor
Lyrics © 2006 by Richard Schletty

All instruments by E. Zamorano
Vocals by R. Schletty

His large nose
Senses no mystical realm,
No god,
No hope,
No aroma of love.

With dulled senses
He stumbles
'Cross small divides,
Never seizing the day,
Never reaching for stars.

He cannot adjust
His lifelong habits
To forestall disaster.
The assailant can surely
Snatch away all.

His attitude stinks.
His muscles are atrophied.
His mind is anemic.
He is unable and unwilling
To embrace his neighbors.

He is an automaton
Who spins out his days
In grief,
In despair,

He is an easy mark,
A sitting duck,
To be bagged and diced,
Skewered and fried,
Consumed and regurgitated.

Lord, help the man!

Does a mother weep?
Does a beggar sleep?
Is the child frail
From a lack of ale?

Are your nails too long
To play this song?
Do the wicked win
Or do they lose with Satan?

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