I've seen men bow at will
For nothing but letters, tweed and twill
I marched, travelled up that hill
No more did my hands stay still

You handed me your lies as your proof
Could you ever oblige me one truth
What one more thing could I have said
Here I am wounded and you left me for dead

She said not to give up so quick
That my life is a candle and a wick
Where hope springs, sirens no more rings
Hand down my voice, not ever will I sing.

You gave me word as your honor
Faith dwindling, your smile so cunning
Heart beating small and ever pining
Spite your mothers, your mindless behavior
Spite your fathers, conspicuous labour.