Mom, look a bad man
Son, don’t look, a bad song
Dad, hear the grey pictures
Daughter, don’t touch the grim speeches
God, look our walls are about to fall
Priests, don’t fear I’m not just a thought
Commander, hear the last battle cry
Soldiers, don’t speak the sound of Valhalla’s light
Daughter, I’m all ashes from the grey picture
Dad, please loosen the grip of the grim speeches
Son, the song long captured son
Mom, look I am the bad man.
