Some things truly never
change
On this beaten track, to our dying day.
From the pacifist with his head in the noose,
Who is gonna die trying not to fight with you,
To the Friday night brawlers with your blood on their shoes, to your one true
love who loves leaving you.
The cannon ball smashed and split the deck again, sent us sliding from the
deck again.
To scarlet waves, where we bled our lives away. Onto the debris we will cling
till dawn again, get washed up one early morn again. Kiss the sand and sing
it all again.
And we'll hide our tracks and we'll venture on
Because they don't know who we are,
And they just don't know who we are,
And they just don't know who we really are.
We won't pack our things away,
Throw up our arms, call it a day.
Written by Billy Barratt
and David Vincent.
(Home, Close)
