The song in which I tried to gloat,
Is clucking, so it seems.
It's gone, I'd muttered what I meant,
The things I should have screamed.
Could easily just tear apart,
With declarations mean.
"Will no one lay the laurel wreath?"
Well, no need so it seems.

Delusion won't be my epitaph.
I won't stall, be cracked; I'll show my wrath.
I will break it, and sit back and then I'll laugh.
I won't hear of sorrow I'll be flying.
I won't hear of sorrow I'll be flying.
I won't hear of sorrow I'll be flying.

- instrumental -

Caffeine I imbibe while I wait,
To see if they will moan.
They're slaughtered by these words I sow,
They know, but don't atone.
Knowledge is their deadly end,
'Cause no one says they're fools.
This hate is intertwined, I see,
With that of hens that rule.

- long instrumental -

The song in which I tried to gloat,
Was clucking, so it seems.
They know what I meant under breath,
But some might lightly deem,
Well "Not this man" which I impart,
Those light flares and those beams.
But they know way deep underneath,
Where silence owns their dreams.

Delusion won't be my epitaph,
I won't stall, be cracked; I'll show my wrath.
I will break it, and sit back and then I'll laugh.
I won't hear of sorrow I'll be flying.
I won't hear of sorrow I'll be flying.
I won't hear of sorrow I'll be flying.

[fade]