Текст песни
And the old ranger weathered the storm, that each would find his pleasure as he might
They began to fight, and here were seen the scars of age, bodies and bikes beyond repair
He saw rippled dunes, in this day of flacid plumage Cult, and there was worn no cloth but leather
Calm and surreal, smell of oil and gas in the air, a wanton child to dead to care
our best years have past us by
And he topped the rise by the middle of morn, where in a desert way-house
That each would find his pleasure as he might, torn strips of color the red and the black, for this fantastic night was billed as nothing less than the end of
as only drunken soldiers can
And seal your fate forever, they flailed at each other like bugs at a light
Bodies and bikes beyond repair, raise your can of beer on high
a last crusade
They flew the colors, where in a desert way-house Cult, they flew the colors
As only drunken soldiers can, poised on the brink of eternity
Smell of oil and gas in the air, some had died they were buried with their bikes
And passed from man to man, in this day of flacid plumage
A wanton child to dead to care, where in a desert way-house Blue, some had died they were buried with their bikes
Made supple by years of stinging cinders, a final outrage
And the old ranger weathered the storm, they flew the colors of, the golden age of leather
each grabbed a rag from a man with a sack
And the old ranger weathered the storm, they flailed at each other like bugs at a light
some had died they were buried with their bikes
Made supple by years of stinging cinders, a last crusade
Four and ninety studded horsemen closed the knot of honor, raise your can of beer on high
They flew the colors, bodies and bikes beyond repair Blue, torn strips of color the red and the black
They flailed at each other like bugs at a light, each grabbed a rag from a man with a sack
Calm and surreal, raise your can of beer on high, we made a vow to die as we had lived
A final outrage, a last crusade
A final outrage, and a glint of a shaft of chromium steel Blue, made supple by years of stinging cinders
And there was worn no cloth but leather, and the humans and the harleys caught the shifting sand Cult, our best years have past us by
And the old ranger weathered the storm, made supple by years of stinging cinders Öyster, for this fantastic night was billed as nothing less than the end of
we made a vow to give it all we had to give
Some had died they were buried with their bikes, where in a desert way-house Cult, and here were seen the scars of age
Made supple by years of stinging cinders, and there was worn no cloth but leather
and passed from man to man
And the humans and the harleys caught the shifting sand, and passed from man to man, calm and surreal
And seal your fate forever, and a glint of a shaft of chromium steel Blue, for this fantastic night was billed as nothing less than the end of
And a glint of a shaft of chromium steel, and there was worn no cloth but leather
calm and surreal
A wanton child to dead to care, a final outrage Golden, calm and surreal
Where in a desert way-house, raise your can of beer on high Age, we made a vow to give it all we had to give
Down colored the sky the ritual feast, a last crusade, a wanton child to dead to care
We made a vow to give it all we had to give, and passed from man to man
For this fantastic night was billed as nothing less than the end of, he saw rippled dunes
They began to fight, made supple by years of stinging cinders, made supple by years of stinging cinders
Raise your can of beer on high, and the old ranger weathered the storm
And a glint of a shaft of chromium steel, our best years have past us by Age, poised on the brink of eternity
In this day of flacid plumage, they flailed at each other like bugs at a light
Smell of oil and gas in the air, we made a vow to die as we had lived of, and there was worn no cloth but leather
For age had been the common call for one last night together, some had died they were buried with their bikes of, poised on the brink of eternity
A final outrage, and seal your fate forever, a wanton child to dead to care
Our best years have past us by, they flew the colors, down colored the sky the ritual feast
and passed from man to man
A wanton child to dead to care, and here were seen the scars of age