Song | Let the Fools Cheer |
Artist | Rumpelstiltskin Grinder |
Album | Buried In the Front Yard... |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Rumpelstiltskin Grinder | |
When prophecies speak of victory | |
There is still a need to fear | |
May the gluttons fill their plates | |
May the crowds of fools cheer | |
A southern fire rises | |
From the bay of | |
Buccaneers | |
Who despite the hell spawned winds | |
Decided not to stop here | |
In the face of defeat we fought | |
No excuse we make | |
Our time was bled away | |
With everything at stake | |
Abandoned veteran | |
Of a doomed crusade | |
An Eagles last flight | |
To take away our faith | |
Bodies will rot, through bodies | |
I wade! We have seen heroes | |
Bleeding every day | |
Running from a curse | |
That will never go away | |
The wind blows coldest here | |
The ground itself is dead | |
Most vermin died here early | |
As the bigger rats were fed | |
Nowhere left to go now | |
The best we still can’t trust | |
Tear down my kingdom | |
I will spit on the dust |
zuo qu : Rumpelstiltskin Grinder | |
When prophecies speak of victory | |
There is still a need to fear | |
May the gluttons fill their plates | |
May the crowds of fools cheer | |
A southern fire rises | |
From the bay of | |
Buccaneers | |
Who despite the hell spawned winds | |
Decided not to stop here | |
In the face of defeat we fought | |
No excuse we make | |
Our time was bled away | |
With everything at stake | |
Abandoned veteran | |
Of a doomed crusade | |
An Eagles last flight | |
To take away our faith | |
Bodies will rot, through bodies | |
I wade! We have seen heroes | |
Bleeding every day | |
Running from a curse | |
That will never go away | |
The wind blows coldest here | |
The ground itself is dead | |
Most vermin died here early | |
As the bigger rats were fed | |
Nowhere left to go now | |
The best we still can' t trust | |
Tear down my kingdom | |
I will spit on the dust |
zuò qǔ : Rumpelstiltskin Grinder | |
When prophecies speak of victory | |
There is still a need to fear | |
May the gluttons fill their plates | |
May the crowds of fools cheer | |
A southern fire rises | |
From the bay of | |
Buccaneers | |
Who despite the hell spawned winds | |
Decided not to stop here | |
In the face of defeat we fought | |
No excuse we make | |
Our time was bled away | |
With everything at stake | |
Abandoned veteran | |
Of a doomed crusade | |
An Eagles last flight | |
To take away our faith | |
Bodies will rot, through bodies | |
I wade! We have seen heroes | |
Bleeding every day | |
Running from a curse | |
That will never go away | |
The wind blows coldest here | |
The ground itself is dead | |
Most vermin died here early | |
As the bigger rats were fed | |
Nowhere left to go now | |
The best we still can' t trust | |
Tear down my kingdom | |
I will spit on the dust |