Throw your blues like a rind, throw them testily!
Bright blue skies and light dreams to explore.
One young lad had a steed and a destiny:
Quite exciting, if not for the war.

But when at war, it feels like war,
The days before are days of yore, -
It’s universal, people.
He rode his stallion like a king,
Late in the spring, late in the spring,
The last one that was peaceful.

But the mists over dew started travelling,
Hail had passed over grasslands and dreams.
And to keep the dark clouds from gathering,
He was needed to be there, it seems.

There, at the war, it feels like war,
The days before are days of yore, -
It’s universal, people.
He rode his stallion like a king,
Late in the spring, late in the spring,
The last one that was peaceful.

Did it come from the swamp, or from prison cells?
Raging blizzard and hail, half and half.
All the winds have died down, they’ve concealed themselves.
The lad’s palms are now licked by the draft.

There, at the war, it feels like war,
The days before are days of yore, -
It’s universal, people.
He rode his stallion like a king,
Late in the spring, late in the spring,
The last one that was peaceful.