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Sometimes one just can't take this joke of God's love for us seriously. Cécile Gonay plays the fiddle here.

lyrics

It is he to whom we raise our hands
To whom we adress our fleeting prayers
For whom we build temples he'll never visit
For whom we turn our backs on our brothers

When the fathers hurts his little one
When the mother dies without a sound
It is he who rejoices and laughs
When the going it gets too rough

He it is who numbs the crowds
So the poor man dies to protect the rich one
He it is who loves to face a child with cancer
Who sends drunk militia men to terminate a girl's laughter

He does not want our love
He just wants us to crawl

Yes, the poor will inherit the earth
That is, when the rich are done with it
The meek will be kings in heaven
So they keep smiling while being raped down here

And he says:
"I do not want your love, I just want you to crawl
And I will break your spine, so that you learn to bow
I do not want your love, I just want you to crawl
And I will break your neck, so your head hangs real low

I tried to poison lve, but it didn't die
It was worse than that: it became vicious
I tried to poison pride, but it didn't die
It was a lot worse than that, it became ambitious"

Oh lord of all thy harvest will be done (ad lib)

credits

from Full Moon Fever, released September 1, 2013
Words & music Laurent Leemans

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The Imaginary Suitcase Nivelles, Belgium

Folk/singer-songwriter duo led by a grumpy Belgian guy voicing his considerations about life, death, and the confusing bits inbetween.

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