Swords To Plowshares

You are bound to us by oaths that you never swore
To reject all of which could help you out
Forever strained against the tides everywhere you go
Tired arms swept away to God knows where

This is a living irony
This is a living irony
A living irony

You would be quite the blast if you weren't so sad
And you could bring about the last days if you asked

We will all see each other in this hell, you know
So don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't be redundant
(Don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't be redundant)

These horns will trumpet your last days
All your caskets and trebuchets
We'll be hopeless in the pure face
Of music played by the true faith

These horns are playing the last song
You'll ever hear, so remember
The words we're singing forever
Rebuild, we dare you, we dare you

Swords To Plowshares

Tradução

Have A Nice Life