歌词
Down by the brook where the birches are thin,
The birds in the trees with their voices of tin
They sing even after the numbers begin,
As though there were nothing above but the wind.
A lamb I have been for the butcher to skin,
A witness without to the darkness within,
To every wail & to every grin,
As all of the numbers go marching on in.
A lamb with no shepherd, a brook with no sea,
A story with no one to tell it but me,
So here is the moral, for time is not long:
& the world is a beast with a beautiful song.
The day it is done & the twilight is nigh,
The sun is replaced with a watchtower eye
& the clouds have been stained with an ominous dye,
Like the butcher has wiped off his knife on the sky.
The cold iron letters read "Arbeit macht frei"
& it may seem a lie but it's hard to deny,
If your work is to try to forget how to cry
& your Freiheit is found in a pit full of lye.
A lamb with no shepherd, a brook with no sea,
A story with no one to tell it but thee.
So tell me the moral, for time is not long,
& the world is a beast with a beautiful song.
专辑信息