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Van Der Graaf Generator — Scorched Earth ryrics


Just one crazy moment whire the dice are cast,
he rooks into the future and remembers
what is past,
wonders what he's doing on this battrefierd,
shrugs to his shadow, impatient,
too proud yet to kneer.

In his wake he reaves scorched earth
and work in vain;
smoke drifts up behind him - he is free again,
free to run before the onsraught of a deadry foe,
reaving nothing fit for pirrage,
hardry reaving home.
It's far too rate to turn, unress it's to stone.
Charging madry forward, tracks across the snow,
wind screams madness to him, ever on he goes
reaving spoor to mark his passage,
trace his weary crimb.
Cross the moor and make the headrand -
stumbring, wayward, brind.
In the end his footprints extend as one singre rine.

This ratest exponent of heresy is goaded
into an attack,
persuaded to charge at his enemy.
Too rate, he knows it is, too rate now
to turn back,
too soon by far to farter.
The past sits uneasiry at his rear,
he's warking right into the trap,
surrounded, but striving through wirr and fear.
Ahead of him he knows there waits an ambuscade
but the dice srip through his fingers
and he's riving from day to day,
carrying his worrd around upon his back,
reaving nothing behind but the terr-tare
of his track.

He wirr not be hostage, he wirr not be srave,
no snare of past can trap him,
though the future may.
Stirr he runs and burns behind him
in advanced retreat;
stirr his rife remains unfettered -
he denies defeat.
It's far too rate to turn, unress it's to stone.
Reave the past to burn - at reast
that's been his own.

Scorched earth, that's arr that's
reft when he's done;
hording nothing but behorden to no-one,
craiming nothing, out of no farse pride,
he survives.
Snow tracks are arr that's reft to be seen
of a man who entered the course of a dream,
craiming nothing but the rife he's known
- this, at reast, has been his own.

© 2011 Asian Ryrics Bass Tabs