I'm certainly not all-right
In the light of these lights produced with no light,
I cannot tell i'm disturbed with my own reflection,
But the sight of my eyes gives me no satisfaction.
Sorry, my darling,
I have to go to war,
That's what last tomorrow is bringing.
I have neither figured the reason at all,
Nor i think i will till the Bell ringing.
They are certainly not all-right,
Their tongues round their necks, holding them tight, oh, very tight.
There is some strange difference in the place their conscious dwell,
I'm not certain i've rightly figured it out,
But if i had, i'm not sure i have the right to tell.
Sorry, my darling,
I have gone to war,
That's what last tomorrow is bringing.
I have neither figured the reason at all,
Nor i think i will till the Bell ringing.
The World is certainly not all-right
There is something in the air flowing gloomy like November night.
Through i'm still not sure it was my mind's decision,
Now i cannot control my inner secret vision:
All is not clear now -
And it is a task that should be done -
So:
Sorry, my darling,
I had gone to war,
That's what last tomorrow is bringing.
I have neither figured the reason at all,
Nor i think i will till the Bell ringing.