C'mon, kind Sir, let's walk outside
|
And breathe the autumn air
|
See the many that have lived and died
|
See the unending golden stair
|
See all of us that have come behind
|
Clutching at your hem
|
All the way from Arkansas
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To your sweet and last amen
|
|
Let the bells ring
|
He is the real thing
|
Let the bells ring
|
He is the real, real thing
|
|
Take this deafening thunder down
|
Take this bread and take this wine
|
Your passing is not what we mourn
|
But the world you left behind
|
Well, do not breathe, nor make a sound
|
And behold your mighty work
|
That towers over the uncaring ground
|
Of a lesser, darker world
|
|
Let the bells ring
|
He is the real thing
|
Let the bells ring
|
He is the real, real thing
|
|
There are those of us not fit to tie
|
The laces of your shoes
|
Must remain behind to testify
|
Through an elementary blues
|
So, let's walk outside, the hour is late
|
Through your crumbs and scattered shells
|
Where the awed and the mediocre wait
|
Barely fit to ring the bells
|
|
Let the bells ring
|
He is the real thing
|
Let the bells ring
|
He is the real, real thing
|
|
-----------------
|
Let The Bells Ring
|
| Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds |
