Prepare yourself for prayer and parades.
There’s a master for you to meet.
You’ll drop all flowers, robes and grenades,
All books and daggers at his feet.
He’ll send the guards to buy paper and figs
And you’ll send your women away.
You’ll slip off your shoes and surrender your dress.
You never seem to mind the rain.
And you who deal in words,
Сan’t have much faith in them.
Now that the killers are still around
And you cry out in a fright
And clutch to anyone who might help you now.
You’ll go moan for home.
You’ll weep a dead eye’s weep.
You’ll go east if you dare.
All that ends ends there.
And you hopes have faded little by little.
Until you forgot what they were.
And you who deal in tears,
Won’t have much use for them.
Not in this certain monarchy.
And the spies are sneaking about.
And you wonder is that god out to help you now?
But he is gone.
Who’s gonna break your fall?
He is gone.
It makes no sense at all, if he is gone.
But he is gone.
Who’s gonna hear your call?
Why go on at all if he is gone?
But he is gone.
It makes no sense at all.
He is gone.
It makes no sense at all, if he is gone.
You see, your masters might fail.
All hail the European night!
You see, your masters might fail.
All hail the European night!