|
Bells are chiming for victory |
|
There's a page back in history |
|
45 |
|
They came back to the world that they fought for |
|
Didn't turn out just like they thought |
|
45 |
|
Here is a song to sing to do the measuring |
|
What do you lose, what do you gain, what do you win? |
|
Nine years later a child is born |
|
There's a record, so you put it on |
|
45 |
|
Nine years more, if we're lucky now |
|
Nine-year-old puts his money down |
|
45 |
|
Every scratch. every click, every heartbeat |
|
Every breath that I held for you |
|
45 |
|
There's a stack of shellac and vinyl |
|
Which is yours now and which is mine? |
|
45 |
|
Repeat chorus |
|
Bass and treble heal every hurt |
|
There's a rebel in a nylon shirt |
|
But the words are a mystery, I've heard |
|
'Til you turn it down to 33 and 1/3 |
|
'Cos it helps with the elocution |
|
Corporations turn revolutions |
|
45 |
|
So don't just weep and shed |
|
Just change your name instead |
|
What do you lose when it all goes to your head? |
|
I heard something peculiar said: |
|
Perhaps he's got a shot and now he's dead |
|
45 |
|
Bells are chiming and tears are falling |
|
It creeps up on you without a warning |
|
45 |
|
Every scratch, every click, every heartbeat |
|
Every breath that I bless |
|
I'd be lost, I confess |
|
45 |
