When the inspiration is above my station

Thoughts are iqeienchoiy and i let them pass

I tend to view this nation

Through the condensation

On a dirty glass

When the singer solemn was a honnie laddie

When she brushed his hair with a watered comb

Then he could have dandered

And he could have shown ye

Seven hitis like home

If misty eyes can witness love and affection

Why does the heart still resist

What the hell is wrong with you?

I've got eyes of misty blue

All the things i want to do

Are all i ever wanted to



As the laddic grew and he looked aroung him

At the thugs and rapists in their stolen suits

Louder beat the rhythm of his bloody heart

Telling him to shoot

Thoughtless competition

Like a home-made prison

Made him fix his vision

On a certain fate

What's the use in winning all the worlds creation

If you won't create.


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