Sentiment wrapped in paper
lacks the punch
of a tongue,
so give me my gun and give me my sword;
be not my death
but be my reward.
We're close.

We're going out of our way
hanging our hopes on a "maybe I'm crazy."

Shoulder cold
from the shake down,
not to fear what's to come.

So give me my gun and give me my sword;
be not my death
but be my reward.
We're close.

We're going out of our way
hanging our hopes on a "maybe I'm crazy."

And for the rest of my life
I thought I'd be doing just fine
without one.