The Fall کے بول

Oh how irony can taint a perfect painting of justice In a shabby room where the judges hide there is no innocence, but confession She fell into the Seine her voice still haunting you among the Dutchmen Tonight there will be fog on the Zuider Zee and in your head Oh how irony can taint a perfect painting of justice Pureness is ephemeral muddied with our best kept secrets You hear the foghorn sound You can't stand to be below all the laughter Tonight there will be fog on the Zuider Zee and in your head I know just how he fell Now I know just how he fell into it Alone above Lake Superior like a stolen judge in hiding