|
My grand old English oak tree, in late last summer's evening sun |
|
A shadow of your former self when you were great and proud and strong |
|
The hills, they stretch so far beyond whatever you could ever hope to see |
|
Here is where your glory lies, beneath these fields of apathy and greed |
|
How can I trust you when your boughs have broken beneath my feet |
|
A thousand times before? |
|
How can I love you when your leaves are always brown? |
|
They fall around me without shame |
|
My grand old English oak tree, in late last summer's evening sun |
|
You took the P out of my pride, I've been taken for a ride |
|
Will you grow forever till your leaves can mingle with the furthest stars? |
|
And millions come from miles around to shelter underneath your holy palms |
|
How can I trust you when your boughs have broken beneath my feet |
|
A thousand times before? |
|
How can I love you when your leaves are always brown? |
|
They fall around me without shame |
|
Without an ounce of shame |
|
No hope and glory left I said, How can we have let you down? |
|
Laughing Jack and the Union Star, God hope I'll be around |
