Fare well, good fellows, your ways are not for me. Rest upon your laurels, glad you found your peace, but farewell, good fellows, your ways are not for me. Rapping at the chapel door, sweeping up an enemy’s floor. Do not touch or make a sound, keep your eyes upon the ground. I’ve read your countless volumes, shunned your many sins. But I cannot find salvation in the rattlin’ of your tins. I wish good to your children and their own children too, but your armor will not fit me, although fine, it’s suiting you, so… A flag is waved, a bomb is thrown. So many names and dates to know. Books upon the books are stacked to get something so simple back. We’re talkin’ revolution, but spirals, not the spins where you fall down dizzy and forget where to begin. I wish good to your children and their own children too, but your armor will not fit me, although fine, it’s suiting you. Turn your blessings into weapons and hold them before your chest. To you and all your comrades, I only wish the best. We may not meet again, for we are treading separate trails. But I’ll cast off and think of you on seas or roads or rails. From chapels to the armies, magician to the knave, you either blaze your own trail or you’re digging your own grave. I wish good to your children, and their own children too, but your armor will not fit me, although fine, it’s suiting you. Fare well, good fellows…Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
