SADDER THAN ANY SONG I'VE SUNG IS GROWING OLD OR DYING YOUNG THIS EARTH IS A GRAVE, ROUND AND GREEN A TOMB ON SORROW WHICH I'VE SEEN A MASSIVE FIELD WE WANDER THROUGH GREAT SKY ABOVE, VAST AND BLUE DEATH MAY COME IN A DAY OR TWO WHETHER OR NOT I'M FALSE OR TRUE
LIKE A BIRD WITH BROKEN WING
STRAIGHT FROM THE STRETCHED-OUT WOMB OF SIN THE HORRID FIRE BOMBS WILL FALL HERE IS HOPE FOR PRIESTS AND PREACHERS SO, MAN UNKIND WILL PERISH OR SUFFOCATE HIMSELF SLOWLY IN HIS SMOGGY, YELLOW HAZE THE SUN SO SORE FROM MARCHING TOWARDS THAT RECEDING WEST WHERE PITY NO LONGER GOVERNS WILL RISE SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF EAST OUR SUN WILL RISE IN MOURNING WISHING IT COULD QUENCH WITH TEARS THE FIELDS AND SKIES ALL BURNING