Текст песни Ballad Of An Onion Sprout (The Burning of Rome) с переводом

O lovely don’t

Lovely don’t think your so cleaver

Wrapped up in hopeless endeavors

Ready to pout

Onion your ready to sprout

The money don’t

It don’t make anything better

Shrinks your soul just like wet leather

Stuck to a cow

And when your luck comes about

You can roll

The annuls

Of all time

From a scroll

To a bold

Ball of twine

Throw it up To the sun

Watch it ignite

O Hopi gal

Don’t rely on that dream catcher

To filter out with its feathers

All of your doubt

When that white man comes about

Your heart will grow

Larger than the Eiffel tower

Pumping blood of Paris flowers

Into the town

Of those non-natives you found

To be cold

With their old

State of mind

You must buy

Or be sold

To their lie

Grab your gun

Little girl

And make things right

Consummate yourself and shake the reigns

Down the bridal path to a safe place

I will meet you there dying in grace

Soak up all the tears off of your face

And watch you disappear without a trace

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