Short-cut to the way back
Wound up down the street where
Intoxicated bums kissed your bride
True love was supposed to beat
The tambourine in a church where the monks swayed
But now they're gone
You're sold out, you're broken down
With your hands against your own monument
Would you recognise
Your fathers smile in your president's eyes?
And would you die?
Die for hatred long born
Prison clothes never worn
And would you cry?
When you're sold out, you're broken down
With your hands against your own monument
Its a perfect solution
So you climb through time up to cloud number nine
But your stuck or stopped
And no-one knows that you're f**ed up
But your arms are so warm, can do me no harm
Wanna ring the bell in hell of charm
You're sold out, you're broken down
With your hands against your own monument
Well it's a perfect solution
It's a perfect solution.