| Prepare yourself for prayer and parades
|
| There’s a master for you to meet
|
| You’ll drop all flowers, robes and grenades
|
| All books and daggers at his feet
|
| He’ll send the guards to buy paper and figs
|
| And you’ll send your women away
|
| You’ll slip off your shoes and surrender your dress
|
| You never seem to mind the rain
|
| And you who deal in words,
|
| Can’t have much faith in them
|
| Now that the killers are still around
|
| And you cry out in a fright
|
| And clutch to anyone who might
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| Help you now
|
| You’ll go moan for home
|
| You’ll weep a dead eye’s weep
|
| You’ll go east if you dare
|
| All that ends ends there
|
| And your hopes have faded little by little
|
| Until you forgot what they were
|
| And you who deal in tears,
|
| Won’t have much use for them
|
| Not in this certain monarchy
|
| And the spies are sneaking about
|
| And you wonder is that god out
|
| To help you now?
|
| But he is gone
|
| Who’s gonna break your fall?
|
| He is gone
|
| It makes no sense at all
|
| If he is gone
|
| But he is gone
|
| Who’s gonna hear your call?
|
| Why go on at all if he’s gone?
|
| But he is gone
|
| It makes no sense at all
|
| He is gone
|
| It makes no sense at all
|
| If he is gone
|
| You see, your masters might fail
|
| All hail the European night!
|
| You see, your masters might fail
|
| All hail the European night! |