|
There are no secrets under the sun |
|
All our troubles are rolled into one |
|
Early warning, get ready to run |
|
But it's hard to see clear |
|
For we might disappear |
|
With the prize hardly won |
|
When books and theories daily contest |
|
It's like a welcome from the chapel of rest |
|
No salvation, no one is blessed |
|
While in private we shake |
|
There's no time to make |
|
One small request |
|
No more winners or losers |
|
To talk into the night |
|
No more beggars or choosers |
|
They're drawn into the fight |
|
They don't belong |
|
The race is on |
|
There are no secrets under the sun |
|
All our troubles are rolled into one |
|
Early warning, get ready to run |
|
But it's hard to see clear |
|
For we might disappear |
|
With the prize hardly won |
|
No more winners or losers |
|
To talk into the night |
|
No more beggars or choosers |
|
They're drawn into the fight |
|
No more winners or losers |
|
To talk into the night |
|
No more beggars or choosers |
|
They're drawn into the fight |
|
They don't belong |
|
They don't belong |
|
The race is on |
|
They don't belong |
|
They don't belong in this place any more |
