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| 2. |
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| 3. |
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| 4. |
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| 5. |
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| 6. |
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There might have been things I missed
But don't be unkind It don't mean I'm blind Perhaps there's a thing or two I think of lying in bed I shouldn't have said But there it is You see, it's all clear You were meant to be here From the beginning Maybe I might have changed And not been so cruel Not been such a fool Whatever was done is done I just can't recall It doesn't matter at all You see, it's all clear You were meant to be here From the beginning |
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Just a step, cried the sad man,
Take a look down at the madman. Bearded kings on silver wings Fly beyond reason. From the flight of the seagull, Come the spread claws of the eagle Only fear breaks the silence, As we all kneel, pray for guidance. Tread the room, cross the abyss, Take a look down at the madness. On the streets of the city, Only spectres still have pity. Patient queues for the gallows, Sing the praises of the hallows. Our machines feed the furnace, If they take us, they will burn us. Will you still know who you are When you come to who you are? When the flames have their season Will you hold to your reason? Will you die with your chance? Can you still keep your balance? Can you wake from the nightmare? |
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| 8. |
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Bitches Crystal
Knows how you Twist all the lines Fortune Teller Future Seller Of time Tortured spirits cry Fear is in their eyes Ghostly images die Witches Potion Mixed in the ocean Of tears Mystical Powers Emerge From the towers Of fear Tortured spirits cry Fear is in their eyes Ghostly images die Evil learning People burning Savage casting No one lasting Witchcraft Sadness Madness Turning in their minds Ritual killings That swear in The shillings to be Heretic Priestess Dwells on the Weakness she sees Tortured spirits cry Fear is in their eyeblack moon |
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| 10. |
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| 11. |
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Just take a pebble and cast it to the sea,
Then watch the ripples that unfold into me, My face spill so gently into your eyes, Disturbing the waters of our lives. Shread of our memories are lying on your grass; Wounded words of laughter are graveyards of the past. Photographs are grey and torn, scattered in your fields Letters of your mem'ries are not real. Sadness on your shoulders like a wornout overcoat In pockets creased and tattered hang the rags of your hope. The daybreak is your midnight; the colours have all died. Disturbing the waters of our lives, of our lives, of our lives, lives, lives, lives... Of our lives. |
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| 12. |
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He had white horses
And ladies by the score All dressed in satin And waiting by the door Ooooh, what a lucky man he was Ooooh, what a lucky man he was White lace and feathers They made up his bed A gold covered mattress On which he was laid Ooooh, what a lucky man he was Ooooh, what a lucky man he was He went to fight wars For his country and his king Of his honor and his glory The people would sing Ooooh, what a lucky man he was Ooooh, what a lucky man he was A bullet had found him His blood ran as he cried No money could save him So he laid down and he died Ooooh, what a lucky man he was Ooooh, what a lucky man he was |
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| 14. |
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