| Where the rich become the beggars
|
| And the wise become the fools
|
| Some jaded heart may turn the page
|
| And start to break the rules
|
| Way beyond the distance
|
| The knaggy oaks of truth
|
| Wake thoughts of resistance
|
| And send you on the loose
|
| In the deep of the night
|
| With your face on the ground
|
| You’ll learn to spit at the devil
|
| Not to get pushed around
|
| In the deep of the night
|
| When you gaze at the stars
|
| When the fogs cry «freedom»
|
| You’d better count your scars
|
| Maybe I’m sinner
|
| And maybe I ain’t no saint
|
| But I know the ancient dreams
|
| Of the bounded and the chained
|
| Slavery or justice
|
| Holy preacher’s fail
|
| But preservatived lust
|
| Is getting outa jail now
|
| In the deep of the night
|
| With your face on the ground
|
| You’ll learn to spit at the devil
|
| Not to get pushed around |