| And there’s a place
|
| Just north of Montague
|
| To end the trace
|
| Of wire tools
|
| And bloody cotton balls
|
| Some alcohol to numb the taste
|
| Any man can say
|
| That there’s a choice of love and honour
|
| To the coming of your soul
|
| The right to choose is constant
|
| But the pressure’s taking toll
|
| And everybody’s got another voice to sing
|
| Everybody’s got another voice to ring
|
| Everybody’s got another voice to sing
|
| Everybody’s got another voice to ring
|
| 'Cause she’s got the voice
|
| 'Cause she’s got the voice
|
| And many stand
|
| To drive the message down
|
| The corner blocks the entryway
|
| And preachers blast
|
| A frightful image of
|
| Chaos and truth
|
| The other day
|
| I wonder how
|
| The movies play apart
|
| Now silly put
|
| But canyon fear
|
| I’m not a lady
|
| I cannot understand
|
| It’s just I watch
|
| And see the fear
|
| Any man can say
|
| That there’s a choice of love and honour
|
| To the coming of your soul
|
| The right to choose is constant
|
| But the pressure’s taking toll
|
| And everybody’s got another voice to sing
|
| Everybody’s got another voice to ring
|
| Everybody’s got another voice to sing
|
| Everybody’s got another voice to ring
|
| 'Cause she’s got the voice
|
| 'Cause she’s got the voice |