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One Hundred Years - Live At Zenith, Paris

de The Cure

It doesn't matter if we all die
Ambition in the back of a black car
In a high building there is so much to do
Going home time, a story on the radio

Something small falls out of your mouth, and we laugh
A prayer for something better, a prayer for something better
Please, love me, meet my mother, but the fear takes hold
Creeping up the stairs in the dark
Waiting for the death blow
Waiting for the death blow
Waiting for the death blow

Stroking your hair as the patriots are shot
Fighting for freedom on television
Sharing the world with slaughtered pigs
Have we got everything? She struggles to get away

The pain and the creeping feeling, a little black haired girl
Waiting for Saturday, the death of her father pushing her
Pushing her white face into the mirror
Aching inside me and turn me round just like the old days
Just like the old days
Just like the old days
Just like the old days

Caressing an old man and painting a lifeless face
Just a piece of new meat in a clean room
The soldiers close in under a yellow Moon
All shadows and deliverance under a black flag

A hundred years of blood crimson
The ribbon tightens round my throat
I open my mouth and my head bursts open
A sound like a tiger thrashing in the water
Thrashing in the water
Over and over we die one after the other
Over and over we die one after the other

One after the other
One after the other
One after the other
One after the other

It feels like a hundred years
A hundred years
A hundred years
A hundred years
A hundred years
One hundred years

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