I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
You don't really care for music, do ya?
Well, it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift
The baffled King composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Well your faith was strong, but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
Well she tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and cut your hair
And from your lips she drew Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Baby, I've been here before
I've seen this room, and I've walked the floor
Used to live alone before I knew ya
But I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Our love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
It's not a crier that you hear at night
It's not someone who's seen the light
It's a cold and broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah
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Sharon Sanders
More than just the lyrics, the haunting melody adds a depth of haunting loneliness, a distinct separation from the race of man; a separation from humanity, from a society that has failed you; from those paid to protect & serve everyone but you; an acknowledgment of the distance between our hearts. A sad reminder of a time when all these things were all-too-real to me, before the recognized need for shelters for the brutally treated, when the boys in blue were just part of the good ol' boy network, and hey, who's to say whether you beat yourself up to make him look bad, we don't know you, and never saw any different, because when it was within our sight we turned away, minded our own, wouldn't help you, wouldn't do a thing to keep you from feeling a sense of utter and complete hopelessness, not knowing what that would do to you, how it would break you, what a life without hope is like, or why we should care. Maybe it broke you, maybe it just dismantled you, after all, you rebuilt yourself in an image more desirable to your own eyes, a strong, cynical, tough cookie, who still smiles and laughs although not at the same things as before, and not with as much abandon; but the potential for violence is still alive and well; it now lives in the heart of the lovely, a fearsome beast with teeth, and the corner of your soul where it lives stays cold so cold, and the wariness remains around the edges of your eyes.