Текст: Mischief Brew. Farewell, Good Fellows.

Farewell, good fellows, your ways are not for me
Farewell, good fellows, your ways are not for me
Rest upon your laurels, glad you found your peace, but
Farewell, good fellows, your ways are not for me
Rapping at the chapel door
Sweeping up an enemys floor
Do not touch or make a sound
Keep your eyes upon the ground
Read your countless volumes
Shunned your many sins
But I cannot find salvation
In the rattlin of your tins

I wish good to your children
And their own children, too
But your armor will not fit me
Although, fine, its suiting you

Farewell, good fellows, your ways are not for me
Farewell, good fellows, your ways are not for me
Rest upon your laurels, glad you found your peace, but
Farewell, good fellows, your ways are not for me

A flag is waved, a bomb is thrown
So many names and dates to know
Books upon the books are stacked
To get something so simple back
We're talkin' revolution
But spirals not the spins
Where you fall down, dizzy
And forget where to begin

I wish good to your children
And their own children, too
But your armor will not fit me
Although, fine, its suiting you

Turn your blessings into weapons
And hold them before your chest
To you and all your comrades
I only wish the best
We may not meet again
For we are treading separate trails
But I'll cast off and think of you
On seas or roads or rails

From chapels to the armies
Magician to the knave
You either blaze your own trail
Or you're diggin' your own grave

I wish good to your children
And their own children, too
But your armor will not fit me
Although, fine, its suiting you

Your armour will not fit me
Although, fine, it's suiting you

Farewell good fellows
Farewell good fellows, your ways are not for me
Farewell good fellows
Farewell good fellows, your ways are not for me
Not for me