Оригинален текст
Time for the final bow,
Rows of deserted houses,
All our stable mates highway bound.
Give us our measly sum,
Getting the air inside my lungs is heavenly,
Starting out, with nothing but crippling doubt.
We'll rest easy justified.
Suffered a swift defeat,
Ill endure countless repeats,
The gift of memory's an awful curse,
With age it just gets much worse,
But I won't mind,
I won't mind,
I won't mind,
I won't mind.