"Fight on, my men, sir Andrew sayes, a little ime hurt, but
yet not slaine; ile but lye down and bleede awhile, and then
ile rise and fight again"
-ballad of Sir Andrew Barton
Look there's no survival here, I've been trying to tell you
This is just the lag time, waiting for the other shoe to drop
When do we draw the line
If not when the river's dry
I'd like to burn off the hat and mustache of the clown
who runs the show
The illusionist and the whisperer
Presiding over cardboard cityscapes
The storm is just a sheet just a sheet of tin
The grain is eggshells
This is not music, It's doomy fanfare
It's just bloodless - Escape artist - Well I'm not one
Rubicon drawn
If not when the river's dry if not when the oceans die
yet not slaine; ile but lye down and bleede awhile, and then
ile rise and fight again"
-ballad of Sir Andrew Barton
Look there's no survival here, I've been trying to tell you
This is just the lag time, waiting for the other shoe to drop
When do we draw the line
If not when the river's dry
I'd like to burn off the hat and mustache of the clown
who runs the show
The illusionist and the whisperer
Presiding over cardboard cityscapes
The storm is just a sheet just a sheet of tin
The grain is eggshells
This is not music, It's doomy fanfare
It's just bloodless - Escape artist - Well I'm not one
Rubicon drawn
If not when the river's dry if not when the oceans die