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A monk with a hard-on in a lavender robe That scratches his thighs for the height that he strove As he follows a path filled with arid desire That mimics his footsteps and sets his prayers on fire Well, I too have chosen, that which left no choice To sing without loving my solitary voice To observe with passion and careful denial These protrusions which give my life meaning for a while But sometimes I see you in berries and weeds Brushing your teeth with licorice seeds Standing too close, holding your clothes Smiling at God as the meaning of life grows Oh, and I'll never tell and I'll never know What candle you light after the show And I'll never tell and I'll never ask The meaning of life after mass