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I could get a splinter from a manger
And I could get a splinter from a cross
I could win the clothes of a criminal
And I could give my gold to a child
And I could read the prophecies
By the starlight, by that star's light
And I could see a sign above
A hanging, homeless heretic
I could smell the blood of the mother
And I could smell a sponge soaked with gall
I could hear a cry for a father
And I could hear the babe crying in free air
And I could feel my heart
Open wider, beating faster
And I could feel such hope
This may become a miracle
I could feed a fish to a dead man
And I could feed my cattle in his bed
I could feel fragile bones under swaddling clothes
And I could feel a hole in his side
And I could track their footsteps
And I could see him rising
On a cloud into Heaven
Where's my metaphor?
Where's the metaphor?
Where'd it go?
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