Tekst:
Graf Friedrich Hartmann

My driftin' memory goes back to the spring of '43 When I was just a child in momma's arms My daddy plowed the ground and prayed someday he could leave

Went out last night to take a little round, I met a little Sadie and I blowed her down, Bummed a ride home, got in to bed, 44 smokeless under my head

Down in the holler there's a thriving town A treasure trove that makes the world go 'round, When the city barons bring their legal papers and guns, Oh

Oh, yonder stands the prophet, words are music to our ears, But down among the sinners, only pain and sweat and tears The sermon soothes the simple but

Der Graf, ist nicht das, was er mal war Ja der Graf, wirkt heut seltsam und bizarr Ja der Graf, lebt von Blutkonserven, Ratten und Getier Ja der Graf,

(Hammill) It's easy to say, when you're so down, that everything's pointless; your eyes burn, your ears howl, your limbs are disjointed. Barren fields

( Hammill ) '"Alone, alone" the ghosts all call, pinpoint me in the light; the only life I feel at all is the presence of the night. Would you cry if

( Hammill ) Still waiting for my saviour, storms tear me limb from limb my fingers feel like seaweed, I'm so far out I'm too far in I am a lonely man

( Evans ) The maelstrom of my memory is a vampire and it feeds on me now staggering madly, over the brink I fall.