Nothing will do
But we must go to the opera
It doesn't really matter
Which one the music
Will plummet into us
And if we're lucky contrive
Real tears and laughter
From the hardening corpses
We're becoming lately
The old wind will get dressed up
In the horns of love duets
And the sun will sweep across
The faces of instruments and singers
And we will finally
Get to our feet in praise
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