Rome - Coriolan lyrics

Will you wash your hands in his heart, will you dwell? Will you pay yourself with being proud as well? He has a heart as little apt as yours but it harbours no complaints, no remorse Coriolan, Coriolan, Coriolan Wouldn't flatter you for a love forlorn for he has no equal in pride, in scorn And what his breast forges his tongue must vent For it's hard to walk with your knees bent