bar the shouting

you make the trip knowing how it will end
but choices do not matter in this light
behind their faces each has to pretend

we get some things and others we must send
and then forget them when they're out of sight
you make the trip knowing how it will end

the road's not straight and hell is round the bend
our passengers are now half-dead with fright
behind their faces each has to pretend

we borrow glory but you've cannot lend
us one more thing than we would have of right
you make the trip knowing how it will end

if we attack you cannot just defend
you can't match strokes and that is the worst plight
behind their faces each has to pretend

what has been broken you can never mend
nor can you find an answer in the night
you make the trip knowing how it will end
behind their faces each has to pretend