Lyrics

Oh, if that young punk could see me now,
Hunched and fat and rich and sad and proud,
Elementally, sick in the flesh and pressed
To the end of the beat in the left of my chest

It's really not so bad here after all,
The trick is not to think on it too long,
And certainly not to write a song,
About being in thrall to my dying fall

There was a little music in me once,
There was a draw to build, to shape, to form,
To find and foster something sweet and warm,
And pull the heart a little nearer, or squeeze an honest tear

It's really not so bad here after all,
The trick is not to think on it too long,
And certainly not to write a song,
About being in thrall to my dying fall

Some men possess a stomach made of lead,
Some women bear the voices of the dead,
The dead and sick, they often sound the same,
They came,
Arm in arm they came,
And into the dark they led,
Arm in arm they came

It's really not so bad here after all,
The trick is not to think on it too long,
And certainly not to write a song,
About being in thrall to my dying fall

It's really not so bad here after all,
The trick is not to think on it too long.
There is no magic draught or healing pill,
I wear the skin of the man that I swore to kill