текст The Paddington Frisk Array слова

To be strung up on a leafless tree,
Where everything dies and nothing grows
Hanging like moulding fruit
One last dance whilst you decompose

On come the paddington spectacles
A black plague over all I admired
A vegetable breakfast, a hearty choke
Seems like the whole world conspired

But there stood a man
He was cut up, distraught and cold
But amongst the wreckage of his ribcage
His heart still thudded as he said

I regard myself as a soldier
Though a soldier of peace
I know the value of discipline and truth
I must ask you to believe me when I say