So he found his way
To a smiling shore
A year or two
From a strange war
The gentle lies
To dying eyes
A thousand miles of walking
Old man talking
Last night I heard him shouting in his sleep
He doesn't need
A Sunday in November
Every night for forty years
My father still remembers
For this is his kingdom, his home
And his story were lost in the struggle
For power and glorious ideals
The final solution
To no one's problem
Friends and lovers in stinking rows
Avoiding their eyes
Checking their numbers
Burning their clothes
Soul survivor
You wouldn't even see him in a crowd
The family man waits in a queue to draw his pension
Nursing memories of a life
He can't bring himself to mention