It’s not the same, as it was, the last time I was here, there were hedges and cars.
There were people in their homes saying prayers.


And through the fog, late at night, we would walk and we’d sing and give the kids a real fright. And go back home really late and steal some gin.

We’re second rate, our odds aren’t great, with no fortunes and no shares and no ring to our names.
But our words have been sharpened and we’re out for blood.

And our hearts have been misplaced in a secret location.
And we’ll leave them there for a while as we try to save this sweet, loving nation
Softly tear its heart, softly tear its heart, softly tear its heart.