| Nothing is good there,
|
| And the air is bitter.
|
| It makes it hard to breathe
|
| And harder to make a move.
|
| It’s been a six month ride
|
| Since the end of the war,
|
| And men there lie with guns in their arms
|
| And twisted cruel grins.
|
| Welcome to unspeakable town:
|
| A land for raving maniacs
|
| Who have the law on their side.
|
| Well, I learnt to cope with that.
|
| Some are living by hope;
|
| Some are hooked on chance;
|
| Some are slaves of blood.
|
| Well, straight-face me and pull me hard:
|
| I’m riding to the land of Nod.
|
| I’m riding to the land of Nod.
|
| I’m riding to the land of Nod.
|
| Can’t you hear Abel from above?
|
| Nothing is plain there,
|
| And nothing’s really clear
|
| When they came to take a man
|
| And finally shot his dog.
|
| Five months have been. |
| Yeah,
|
| Murderous years
|
| For men to live along
|
| With them crystal fears.
|
| Fine unspeakable streams!
|
| The land of raving creeps
|
| Is now mine for days and weeks.
|
| So I got used to the smell.
|
| Some, it gets them down;
|
| But some, it horns them well.
|
| I can’t remember clear
|
| The curious music that I hear:
|
| Living in the land of Nod.
|
| Living in the land of Nod.
|
| Living in the land of Nod.
|
| And Cain’s awaited to say grace. |