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The Lincoln Memorial has become somewhat of a sanctuary for me. Countless nights have found me sitting on the floor reading Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address - or standing on the step where Martin Luther King delivered his Dream and replaying the speech through headphones.
I constantly wonder if we've come noticeably closer to either man's dreams in recent history, but I never doubt the weight of their words or lives or shadows. Both grains of wheat that fell into the ground and died unalone, anticipating a harvest; both lives uneclipsed by bullets.
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I spend my nights in the shadow of Lincoln,
reading his words and it sets me thinking
Can you keep a good man down with a bullet in his head?
Honey, if that's the way it goes, we're as good as dead.
I walk to the stairs where Martin once stood,
with a fire in his belly and a sharp word.
Thinking can you keep a good man down with a bullet in his head?
Honey, if that's the way it goes, we're as good as dead.
Abraham Lincoln had a Sovereign, had a son.
I see the pain in his eyes and I'm not the only one.
Martin all of my dreams are coming undone.
Jesus, save me from it all.
Jesus Christ, you've got to hold me together
Let my fears take flight light as a feather.
Can you keep a good man down with a bullet in his head?
Jesus, if that's the way it goes, we're as good as dead.
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