|
Walk away on London's bitter pride |
|
In melancholic isolation |
|
Force-feed yourself, sentimentality |
|
With golden age mythology |
|
The feudal lords are ruthless no more |
|
But in the night, the raven calls |
|
False memories, fake history |
|
Next you'll talk of racial purity |
|
Where the nightingale sings |
|
The knights around all cleave close |
|
You were abiding |
|
Well your name is not |
|
Always one, simple relations |
|
Walk away from from anonymity |
|
The feudal lords are ruthless no more |
|
But in the night, the raven calls |
|
(Force-feed yourself sentimentality) |
|
False memories, fake history |
|
False memories |
|
Fake history |
|
Next you'll talk of racial purity |
|
Where the nightingale sings |
|
The knights around all cleave close |
|
You were abiding |
|
Well your name is not |
|
(Force-feed yourself sentimentality) |
|
When the nightingale sings |
|
The knights around all cleave close |
|
You were abiding |
|
Well your name is not |
|
When the nightingale sings |
|
The knights around all cleave close |
|
You were abiding |
|
Well your name is not |
