Over the hill, you come speeding, to the fresh face troubadour.
You are the bull, I am the bloody, red, stubborn semaphore.
Over the hill, over my freedom, with a sickle and a cape.
You try to reap what I’ve been sowing, darling that’s where you made your mistake.

And you have crossed the Rubicon, this is my reign this is my song,
I’m not the buoy you need from me, I’ll be whatever I want to be.

And so when the bulls are charging, I can be a matador.
It’s just a matter of surviving. I’ve done it time and time before.

Over the hill, there is another, then another hill again.
For every hill, there is a bullock, for every bullock another ten.
And I get tired, yes I get weary, but like a motor behind this heart,
I never miss a single beating, the game is over before you can start.

And you have crossed the Rubicon, this is my reign, this is my song,
I’m not the buoy you need from me, I’ll be whatever I want to be, yes.

And so when the bulls are charging, I can be a matador.
It’s just a matter of surviving. I’ve done it time and time before.
You see my history is peppered with the battles of belief.
So just keep charging at the red flag, the killing always gives release.
The killing always gives release.
The killing always gives release.
The killing always gives release.
The killing always gives release.
Release...

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