I will die, we eventually die this is usual
I would like it to be not myself by a knife to my back
They have mercy on martyrs pray for them say they go to heaven
Not so nice with the living but sure, we care for the dead.

I will fall into mud taking care for looking pathetic
And my soul will start stolen horses to gallop ahead
In the paradise gardens I will steal some of whitish-pink apples
Bother, gardens are guarded snipers shoot into foreheads ok.

On arrival, I see paradise isn’t paradise-looking
Fruitless open space mere nothing at all limitless
In the middle of nowhere a huge iron gate was erected
And some weary people sitting near the gate watched the gate.

My main horse gave a neigh I said nice words to him to calm down
And removed burdock prickles which was hard work and plaited his mane
A grey-haired old man wasted time on the bolt, doing something
And he groaned and grumbled and he failed to unlock and he went.

And the weary people didn’t utter a groan
Only squatted at once because kneeling was too hard for them
This is raspberry, bros we are welcome sweet sound of chiming
Everything’s coming back and we saw Him who was crucified.

 
 
 
 

I recalled the old man by the tears on his flabby cheeks
He is Peter, a saint fn Apostle and I am a fool
Gardens over there! and à lot of frozen apples
But the gardens are guarded I was shot through my foreheads ok.

We are eager for goods after all, did I order too much goods?
My demand is my friends and my wife on my coffin to fall
And returning the favor I would take many whitish-pink apples
Bother, gardens are guarded snipers shoot into foreheads ok.

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

And I started the horses away from these cold and dangerous places
Horses wish to eat oats but I hurry too much to have rest
With a whip, on a brink of a precipice, carrying the apples
I would save them for you, for you waited for må to come back.