| There are no secrets under the sun
|
| All our troubles are rolled into one
|
| Early warning, get ready to run
|
| But it’s hard to see clear
|
| For we might disappear
|
| With the prize hardly won
|
| When books and theories daily contest
|
| It’s like a welcome from the chapel of rest
|
| No salvation, no one is blessed
|
| While in private we shake
|
| There’s no time to make
|
| One small request
|
| No more winners or losers
|
| To talk into the night
|
| No more beggars or choosers
|
| They’re drawn into the fight
|
| They don’t belong
|
| The race is on
|
| There are no secrets under the sun
|
| All our troubles are rolled into one
|
| Early warning, get ready to run
|
| But it’s hard to see clear
|
| For we might disappear
|
| With the prize hardly won
|
| No more winners or losers
|
| To talk into the night
|
| No more beggars or choosers
|
| They’re drawn into the fight
|
| No more winners or losers
|
| To talk into the night
|
| No more beggars or choosers
|
| They’re drawn into the fight
|
| They don’t belong
|
| They don’t belong
|
| The race is on
|
| They don’t belong
|
| They don’t belong in this place any more |