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The crown, my deeds Like a burden does it seem I stand all alone In a dark and empty dream Such is the bitter taste Of the blarney outta hell There was a life to waste And the witches did it well Here as I sit On a cold and empty throne The thanes, most men All have fled, I am alone Such is the bitter taste Of my hopes about to fall There was a life to waste I see demons rising tall No use to run and hide No use to run and hide Now as my dreams lie there in pieces Where is the glory after all Now as I stand amidst the ruins I see demons rising tall, demons rising tall Still I am invincible No fear in my heart there'll be No man, man of woman born Shall have power over me Yet there is a bitter taste Of the madness that did fall I had a life to waste I see demons rising tall They have tied me to a stake I cannot fly, but bear-like I must fight the course What's he that was not born of woman? Such a one am I to fear or none What is thy name? Thou'lt be afraid to hear it No, though thou call'st thyself a hotter name than any is in hell My name's Macbeth The devil himself could not pronounce A title more hateful to mine ear No, nor more fearful, thou liest, abhorred tyrant With my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st Thou wast born of woman, but swords I smile at Weapons laugh to scorn, brandished by man that's of a woman born Why should 1 play the Roman fool, and die on mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the gashes do better upon them Turn, hell-hound, turn Macduff, of all men else I have avoided thee But get thee back, my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already I have no words, my voice is in my sword Thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out Thou losest labor, as easy mayst thou The intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests, I bear a charmed life Which must not yield to one of woman born Despair thy charm and let the angel whom thou Still hast served tell thee Macduff Was from his mother's womb untimely ripped Accursed be that tongue that tells me so For it hath cowed my better part of man And be these juggling fiends no more believed That palter with us in a double sense That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope, I'll not fight with thee Then yield thee, coward, I will not yield To kiss the ground before your feet And to be baited with the rabble's curse Though thou opposed being of no woman born, yet I will try the last Before my body I throw my warlike shield Lay on, Macduff and damned be him that first cries Hold, enough, my fate may have turned to black But at least I 'II die with harness on my back |