|
Holding on for dear life |
|
Dodging arrows |
|
What a strange elation in my bones |
|
Bit the dust and tasted |
|
Imperfection |
|
What a sweet confection |
|
I have known |
|
And they can't take that away |
|
No, they can't take that away |
|
'Cause the gods make sure |
|
We all get a taste |
|
Signing off |
|
I saw the correspondent |
|
Throw his crap back in the van |
|
Still with pride |
|
While having grown despondent |
|
Journalism broke that man |
|
And they can't take that away |
|
No, they can't take that away |
|
'Cause the gods make sure |
|
We all get a taste |
|
Wooden wheels and dust |
|
Up ride the bandits |
|
Gunning for some treasure trove |
|
If you could store their joy |
|
And jubilation |
|
And take it in a jug back home |
|
But they can't take that away |
|
No, we can't take that away |
|
But the gods make sure |
|
We all get a taste |
|
And they can't take that away |
|
No, they can't take that away |
|
'Cause the gods make sure |
|
We all get a taste |
