No one looks in this place for motive or any hope
|
But for the dead shot of an amber glass
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The blue light of a votive
|
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The rain obscured the window
|
As the pain was dulled by the grains
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Absolved in spoons and flames
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In fear in time dissolving
|
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It's not for the faint of pulse
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Or anybody false
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Those amateurs who only shed their skin
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So where are those traitors now, we once called patriots?
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Just like those saints who seem to revel in their sins
|
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O my eyes were filled with tears that were stinging
|
After our assassin's work was done
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But hands and bells are only there for the wringing
|
As we were bringing bullets for the new-born king
|
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The trumpet sounds lamenting
|
Trampling down the blooms of the deceased
|
The double agent girl and the fallen priest were heading for the border
|
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Somewhere at the high command there stayed the palest hand
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That saw the order countermand
|
Erased a tape recorder and then they hung him from a window cord
|
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Swallow down that voodoo vial to still your breath a while
|
Before we spill this tale that has been spun
|
And so I shall now confide all that I once denied
|
Oh I'm so sorry for the things I've done
|
|
O my eyes were filled with tears that were stinging
|
After our assassin's work was done
|
But hands and bells are only there for the wringing
|
As we were bringing bullet for the new-born king
|
|
-----------------
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Bullets For The New-Born King
|
| Elvis Costello |
