the curtain down I held the blade in trembling hands prepared to make it but just then the phone rang I never had the nerve to make the final cut
Take all your overgrown infants away, somewhere And build them a home, a little place of their own The Fletcher Memorial Home For incurable tyrants and
tear the curtain down I held the blade in trembling hands Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang I never had the nerve to make the final cut
Floating down, through the clouds Memories come rushing up to meet me now But in the space between the Heavens And the corner of some foreign field I
Jesus Jesus what's it all about trying to clout these little ingrates into shape when i was their age all the lights went out there was no time to whine
Get your filthy hands off my desert! What he say? Brezhnev took Afghanistan Begin took Beirut Galtieri took the Union Jack And Maggie over lunch one
of the poppy fields and graves When the fight was over We spent what they had made But in the bottom of our hearts We felt the final cut
Fuck with all that, we've got to get on with these (Fuck all that, fuck all that) Gotta compete with the wily Japanese There's too many home fires burning
When you're one of the few to land on your feet what do you do to make ends meet? teach make 'em mad, make 'em sad, make 'em add two and two make 'em
Tell me true Tell me why was Jesus crucified? Was it for this that Daddy died? Was it you? Was it me? Did I watch too much TV? Is that a hint of accusation
In my rear view mirror the sun is going down Sinking behind bridges in the road I think of all the good things that we have left undone And I suffer premonitions
They flutter behind you, your possible pasts Some bright eyed and crazy, some frightened and lost A warning to anyone still in command {Ranks! Fire!}
Jesus, Jesus, what's it all about? Trying a clout these little ingrates into shape When I was their age all the lights went out There was no time to whine
It was just before dawn One miserable morning in black '44 When the forward commander was told to sit tight When he asked that his men be withdrawn And
When you're one of the few to land on your feet What do you do to make ends meet? (Teach) Make 'em mad, make 'em sad, make 'em add two and two Or make
Button your lip And don't let the shield slip Take a fresh grip on your bullet proof mask And if they try, to break down your disguise with their questions
tear the curtain down I held the blade in trembling hands prepared to make it but just then the phone rang I never had the nerve to make the final cut
Übersetzung: Pink Floyd. The Final Cut.