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With providence to guide us we don't need a map to tell us where to go |
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We put our high-tops on the highway and our mesh hats will follow |
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We weren't born for times like these, burning cars and effigies |
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One road just starting as another road finishes |
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Oh for the hour and the power and glory would be ours |
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Like the hours would be the hours of the last days |
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We won't hear what anyone says |
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Its not the glory, it's not the story our lives ever told |
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When there was somebody for me every step in the road carried them from me |
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And my feeble body |
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So we said we'd live in paris in the tenth arrondissement |
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We'd be hanging out on boulevard with the idiot savant singing |
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'I don't care for times like this, we'll say we're all anarchists' |
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But will anybody really understand what that means |
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Oh for the hour and the power and glory would be ours |
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Like the hours would be the hours of the last days |
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We won't hear what anyone says |
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You'll lose your looks, I'll lose my religion |
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We'll be god's tiny carrier pigeons |
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And we'll never return |
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Its not the glory, it's not the story our lives ever told |
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It's an easy lie to tell and you told it well |
