We had a mod-fuck jubilee. To celebrate our broken hearts. We carved tombs from the rocks and stones. And transformed them into art. . We gave the plot a twist.
It hit my mind, it came to me*. In order to live its got to be freed. And all I want. Is this grace undone. Its haunting my head now. Like a prodigal son.
Another page of history. Another failed and hopeless year. Of wasted life and wasted time. Long ago you sang a tune. Of running from a painful youth. And now it's dry, you're wondering why.
Will ye go tae Flanders, Young Jimmy-o?. Oh will ye go tae Flanders, Young Jimmy-o?. There you'll get wine and brandy. And medals find and dandy,. O will ye go to Flanders, Young Jimmy-o?.
Where are you tonight I wonder. And where will you be tonight when I cry?. Will sleep for you come easy,. Though I alone can't slumber. Will you welcome in the morning.
Now that our ties are served. . As we wave goodbye. . Let us not wonder whether. . We are ready to take the dive. . Let it dive, let it die, let it fade out of sight.
My heart was ance as blithe and free. As simmer days were lang;. But a bonie, westlin weaver lad. Has gart me change my sang.. . Chorus.-To the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids,.
With history, your bluest grace. Falls apart, cascading down. Speak to me of beautiful hate. Of island chains swept with the tide. Tragedy ripening on.
Tibbie Fowler o' the glen, there's ower mony wooin' at her. Tibbie Fowler o' the glen, there's ower mony wooin' at her. Ten cam' east and ten cam' west and ten cam' sailin' ower the watter.
Come gather 'round you freeborn men. And draw your chairs to mine.. And I'll tell you of my country,. That you might understand.. And of the English armies,.
I have made you in my likeness. And I make you the keepers of my garden world. And if you honor me in kind, I will be grateful, but be warned. For I'm an angry, jealous God.
Oh, there're sober men in plenty,. And drunkards barely twenty,. There are men of over ninety. That have never yet kissed a girl.. But gie me a ramblin' rover,.
Oh, what a parish, a terrible parish;. Oh, what a parish is that o' Dunkeld.. They hangit their minister, droon'd their precentor,. Dang doun the steeple and fuddled the bell..
When o'er the hill the eastern star. Tells bughtin time is near, my jo,. And owsen frae the furrow'd field. Return sae dowf and weary O;. Down by the burn, where birken buds.
Eyes obscured, by those bangs. Sun is shielded, by your shades. Kick it on the corner. Leather coat and safety pins. You got some ? news. And you smoke your ? cools.
I'm wearin' awa', Jean. Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean. I'm wearin' awa'. To the land o' the Leal. . There 's nae sorrow there, Jean. There 's neither cauld nor care, Jean.
Mourn as a nation, rule as a mob. Kill for an insult so slight. The further they plummet, the blinder they are. Each one believing they're right. . I'm the monster, I exist.