| Do you think we’re fools?
|
| We know it won’t be long
|
| 'Til you drill a well
|
| And fall straight through the roof of Hell
|
| And they lock you in a prison cell
|
| And leave the tale for you to tell
|
| You got no more soul to sell
|
| But oh well, that’s life
|
| So carve on with your wicked knife
|
| You’re so strong, you’re so precise
|
| One day you’ll learn to take your own advice
|
| And make your home in a prison cell
|
| And leave the tale for me to tell
|
| You got no more soul to sell
|
| And any place you place the blame
|
| The water tastes the same
|
| The sunlight hurts your eyes
|
| It’s no surprise
|
| And anyone you chance to meet
|
| A stranger on the street
|
| They’re bound to wonder why you run so dry
|
| You drink the tears from their eyes
|
| Do you think we’re fools?
|
| We know it won’t be long
|
| 'Til you drill a well
|
| And fall straight through the roof of Hell
|
| And they lock you in a prison cell
|
| And leave the tale for me to tell
|
| You got no more soul to sell |