| He picked up the map and smiled to himself
|
| As he pictured the flight of the crow
|
| And thought, 'What a book, that shows you your route
|
| But tells you not if you should go'
|
| And the days ricochet like the bullets whistle past
|
| The horse and the lone cavalier
|
| And the years fly by, like arrows from the sky
|
| Yet closer to foot soldier’s ear
|
| Travelled the world, I sailed the high seas
|
| Plenty of times that I’ve been leaving
|
| This time I’m going, and I ain’t coming back
|
| I’ve done my fair share of breathing
|
| Stay on this planet just one minute more
|
| What is it that I’ll be achieving?
|
| This time I’m going and I ain’t coming back
|
| I’ve done my fair share of breathing
|
| He looked in the mirror and tutted out loud
|
| And he ran his hands right through his hair
|
| He could blame all the brushes and combs in the world
|
| But the good stuff was no longer there
|
| See, geography’s searching for someone
|
| And history’s digging for same
|
| Science is proving the earth is still moving
|
| Whilst suffering this level of pain
|
| How come they built the graveyards so big?
|
| How come they saved all that space?
|
| They must have known we were coming
|
| Could they tell from the look on our face?
|
| So one January day, they’ll take you away
|
| At the bottom of a drive in the cold
|
| Nose to the ground, fingers frozen around
|
| The bouquet of flowers you hold
|
| Nose to the ground, fingers frozen around
|
| The bouquet of flowers you hold… |