| A lonely breed, these wandering men
|
| I pushed and shoved through the steely glare
|
| Of the assassins who aim high
|
| Smell the colour of your room
|
| And you row like the Volga boatman
|
| Do you always talk that way?
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| Go!
|
| Some say he died for a Cajun queen
|
| Some say he stood so tall and strong
|
| With his auto-banditry
|
| A serenade with a grenade
|
| Does your bravado always bite hard
|
| Do you stamp your feet all day?
|
| See the beauty of destruction
|
| Feel my breath upon your neck
|
| Why do you turn and walkaway?
|
| A lonely breed these hungry men
|
| I sat and stared through the looking glass
|
| That all men call the world
|
| I would have died, a thousand times
|
| Just to see the faces of
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| The assassins who never die
|
| In my dream I always see
|
| Not the face of vendetta
|
| But the smile of ecstasy |