Tekst:
Bz

We come to Your throne with weeping We come to Your throne with sorrow and shame We come to Your throne with weeping We come We come to Your throne with

Oh Abraham Lincoln carried across the street Oh Abraham Lincoln carried across the street The assassin, the coward shot him in the head The assassin,

In the raining park the chessmen play The faithful atheists refuse to pray The steam-works weep, the addicts do not care Crowd of cold people stand by

Every last blind pulled when I walk down the street The only sound I hear is my tired heartbeat Well, sometimes I feel just like a motherless child, yeah

I send pictures through the mail Well documented and very detailed To politicians and big celebrities, But none of them are believing in me And I await

In a city of crooked alleys Crookeder women and wicked men Dim lamps in the rumor mill Suspicious kith and unkind kin Haruspectre General Sleeping soldiers

In the mailbox what I find? PEPCO hello and no reply From Tecumseh, Michigan Urgent letter to a friend January 30th, at no cost Survive the fire with

Translucent plains envisioned beyond the horizon, I hear the flapping of wings, The bestoking tranquillity of irredescent spectrum, The birds circle around

Prijevod: Jeff Deyo. Mi dolaze na Vaše prijestolju plačuć.