LYRIC

His organ sounds like clouds brushing against the moon
on an ice crusted midnight,
But everything it hurts every thing it hurts everything
it hurts everything it hurts,
His synthesizer sails galactic landscapes, from New
York to ancient Rome in an hour
But everything it hurts every thing it hurts everything
it hurts everything it hurts,
His voice softens the squall of deaths imminence of
when he sings oh it rains tropical colors
But everything it hurts every thing it hurts everything
it hurts everything it hurts

But when I hear that music all the world is holy and
it

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