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You believe
you've changed,
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but you haven't.
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You call yourself a prophet,
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a man of God,
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but I know better.
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I don't believe
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that only the thunder
of a mountain
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stirs your heart
as you stir mine.
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Nefretiri, I have stood
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in the burning light
of God's own presence.
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It was not he
who saved you just now.
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I did that.
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Oh, Moses, Moses.
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Why, of all men,
did I fall in love
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with a prince of fools?
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But I believe
anything you tell me
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when I'm in your arms.
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Why must you deny
me and yourself?
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Because I am
bound to a God
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and to a people and
to a shepherd girl.
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A shepherd girl.
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What can she be to you?
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Unless the desert sun
has dulled your senses.
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Does she...
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grate garlic on her skin?
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Or is it soft...
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as mine?
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Are her lips chafed
and dry as the desert sand,
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or are they moist and red
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like a pomegranate?
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Is it the fragrance
of myrrh
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that scents her hair...
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...or is it
the odor of sheep?
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There is a beauty
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beyond the senses, Nefretiri,
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beauty like the quiet
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of green valleys
and still waters,
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beauty of the spirit
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that you cannot understand.
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Perhaps not.
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But beauty of the spirit will
not free your people, Moses.