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Seventy-four, seventy five
He’s getting used to it now
How each one falls away
In that hoary light

And they’ve gone
Gone from the age
Gone from the guards and their hands
Was no different today than in years gone by
But he won’t come out tonight
With his hands so thin and white

Gone! Gone from the age
Then he is gone from your eyes
As that splintering wave
Takes so many lives

Leaving your hands
Gripping the edge of such a waste
Every angel looks dead, every face a lie
But you won’t come out tonight
With your hands so thin and white
Alive

Seventy-four, seventy-five
Daddy, come back to me now
I would beat them away
I would pull you out
I would have washed
All the cinders from your eyes
And with silver and gold
I would adorn you

Let it all come out tonight
When they pull me out alive
Alive!

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