If you don't give a listen,
I won't try to tell your new hand.
This is it, can't you see
That we all have our ends in the band.
And if all of the teachers and
Preachers of wealth were arrainged.
We could see quite a future
For me in the littoral sands.
And if all the people
Could claime to inspect such regret,
Well we'd have no forgiveness,
Forgetfullness, faithful remorse.
So I tell you, I tell you,
I tell you we must send away.
We must try to find
A new answer instead of a way.