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lyrics

Oh, Joan of Arc, it wasn't fair. You had to cut your sweet brown hair. When you tried to trim it DIY, you swiped the scalp, but didn't cry. You just sheared it off and looked like a guy, but you took it like a martyr.

And I remember that poem of yours about Anton Webern under the stars, and the one about the girl who lost some weight, misplaced it like a china plate. Oh Joan, why did you go and do the same when you lost your temporal body?

Now you're ashes at the stake. I hope they distribute you across some mountain lake. You were the savior of the French, carving their verse on some old park bench with a Sharpie pen. Oh, what a wrench that that awkward laugh you laughed is gone for good. Well, at least you've got your green saint hood. Oh, won't you be my patron saint?

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from Only The Sound Between Us, released December 6, 2006

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