|
Immanuel, will your doctors let you be ill? |
|
Or are the new laws quoting quotas they have to fill? |
|
They said you to have to work, |
|
So you work and you get worse, |
|
And you curse the day you were born. |
|
Fill in your date of birth, |
|
And sign your name on the application form. |
|
Immanuel, every drop of blood tastes like wine. |
|
When I speak of blood, |
|
I'm speaking of how you always felt like a brother to me. |
|
Immanuel, when I speak of wine, |
|
I'm speaking of the wine regions outside of Santiago, Chile |
|
Where I will take you when you get better. |
|
Immanuel, it's difficult to stand fast |
|
When it's not your arm nicely wrapped in a cast, |
|
When your a needle in a haystack, |
|
And a dead horse on the racetrack, |
|
And no one sees you bleeding, |
|
When the story is old |
|
And the winter blowing cold in Sweden. |
|
Immanuel, every drop of blood tastes like wine. |
|
When I speak of blood, |
|
I'm speaking of what I would do if anyone hurt you. |
|
Immanuel, when I speak of wine, |
|
I'm speaking of the wine regions outside of Santiago, Chile |
|
Where I will take you when you get better. |
|
And that's a promise. |
|
Immanuel, imagine the cool breeze from the Andes. |
|
Immanuel, imagine the full-bodied red wine against your lips. |
|
Immanuel, imagine the Chilean women, |
|
The most beautiful women in the world. |
