Shapes of things before my eyes
|
They teach me to despise
|
Will time make man more wise?
|
|
Here beneath my lonely frame
|
My eyes just hurt my brain
|
But will it seem the same?
|
|
(Come tomorrow), will I be older
|
(Come tomorrow), maybe a soldier
|
(Come tomorrow), will I be bolder than today
|
|
Now the trees are almost green
|
But will they still be seen
|
When time and tide have been?
|
|
Boy into your passing hands
|
Please don't destroy these lands
|
Don't make them desert sands
|
|
(Come tomorrow), will I be older
|
(Come tomorrow), maybe a soldier
|
(Come tomorrow), will I be bolder than today
|
|
Boy into your passing hands
|
Please don't destroy these lands
|
Don't make them desert sands
|
|
-----------------
|
Shapes Of Things (originally by The Yardbirds)
|
| The Dead Milkmen |
