Tytuł: Fertile Fields

• Wykonawca: Good Riddance
• Wyświetleń: 299

Sometimes those simple things won't turn the trick no more
  And our self-important dreams they all lie shattered on the floor
  Even the proletariat receives his royalty
  And as the battle rages on and on I wish it wasn't me
  And it seems so cruel
  The last one breaking up
  Until the winter finds it's worth
  As we glide upon the earth
  Now the trees are swept aside by wind and sheets of rain
  And the fertile fields once gilded have now withered and refrained
  She who longs for comfort feels instead a savage thrust
  And the ashen sky grows ever darker as dawn gives way to dust
  As we set our dogs upon the earth
  Feast on the dead until no life remains
  Forward towards a pointless end we squander never gain