| The curtain breathes, the air swims
|
| The sweat dries cold on the shivering skin
|
| The sheets they twist and turn again, round and round
|
| My mother she feeds and cares for me
|
| Shackled to responsibility
|
| All her precious dreams for me crashing down
|
| Ch: Tell them all to go away, tell them all I’ll be OK
|
| Tell them all just not today, not today. |
| .
|
| They’re building special facilities
|
| Laboratory animals die for me
|
| I live with my humility — humility
|
| November 1989, they’re dancing on the Berlin Wall tonight
|
| I feel the flow of history and have no part
|
| Ch: Tell them all to go away, tell them all I’ll be OK
|
| Tell them all just not today, not today. |
| .
|
| A little night in town we said — oh I remember very well
|
| They’ll be out of prison soon and me I’m locked forever in this. |
| .
|
| I went for my mother to a holy shrine
|
| The wheelchairs rattled through the afternoon
|
| Over the cobbles and up the hill
|
| In an ordered procession of desperate will
|
| It hurts just the way it hurts today
|
| Those moments come, then recede away
|
| Better to accept what you cannot change
|
| The less the pain. |
| .
|
| Ch: Tell them all to go away, tell them all I’ll be OK
|
| Tell them all just not today, not today. |
| . |