| After these processions comes the sweeping up
|
| The rag and bone possessions, an old tin cup
|
| The army trucks have hauled away the newly slain
|
| The angry crowd retreats, but they? |
| ll be back again
|
| And the prisoner in the palace does not understand
|
| The ingratitude around him after all he? |
| s done and planned
|
| But if this the way that it must be then he? |
| ll be damned
|
| If he will let them take away his perfect dream
|
| Ministers stuff bank notes into leather bags
|
| Their wives have packed the jewelry and the luggage tanks
|
| The word is on the street now, growing day by day
|
| And even the informers know the stay away
|
| And the prisoner in the palace is appalled by this charade
|
| Feeling strangely unprotected by his miles of golden braid
|
| And if this is the way that it must be then I? |
| m afraid
|
| He will not let them take away his perfect dream
|
| And these mountains of equipment brought from foreign lands
|
| Are now stacked up in the desert being buried by the sand
|
| These rows of helicopters rusting where they stand
|
| Are butterflies to take away the perfect dream
|
| He cried inside the limousine and at the airport too
|
| Where the soldier knelt before him and kissed his shoe
|
| He flew across the desert and the open sea
|
| While they tore down all his statues and his legacy
|
| And the victor greets the newsmen with a strange and stoic style
|
| They take a hundred thousand pictures and in none of them a smile
|
| But this is just the way that it must be now for a while
|
| He’s only come to bring another perfect dream |