The Immigrant 歌词

You may dream of a land, of a far-distant land Where the clouds drift above, White over green grass and clover Do the songs still go on are the races now won By fellows you used to win over Do they still recall those days long ago Are their images those the windows of life still adorning Do they feel that ache that you can never shake That wakes with you still in the morning You may drink when you're dry You may laugh till you cry And the tears from your eyes keep on falling For lethe it runs slow, and never may you know Respite from your heart still recalling If anger glows slow there's a fuse in a jug A jug filled with punch A jug filled with punch in the evening There's the world in your hand, who can ever understand Why the jar or two leaves you grieving Do you torture yourself, is it not you at all, Is it others' fault instead you can't take a breath without sighing There's no logic that you know, that can ever make it so But twenty pints or so stops you dying Now you're old, vast and gray And living in the burbs, In the bunkers of town, Archie bunkered down in the trenches You've established your redoubt, Immigrants keep out Nostalgia and cops your defenses