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Funeral For A Friend Tales Don't Tell Themselves Great Wide Open Spitting from the bridges, Like a bird perched on a branch, I'm wilting like a tree, That will never let me breath, Soul soldier with your gun held high, Where does the crow fly, Soul soldier with your gun held high, Will you follow it home, For the road that we walk has no more miles left to talk, Stories on and on we go, Into the great wide open, No it never came back to break me, The way it broke it down, Spiting from the bridges, While the tree gives a soft sigh to the ground, Soul sailer with your flag held high, Where does the crow fly, Soul sailer with your flag held high, Will you follow it home, For the road that we walk has no more miles left to talk, Stories on and on we go, Into the great wide open, For the road that we walk has no more miles left to talk, Stories on and on we go, Into the great wide open, The rush, of the flood, Sends the blood, To my head The rush, of the flood, Sends the blood, To my head, Soul soldier with your gun held high, Where does the crow fly, Soul soldier with your gun held high, Will you follow it home, The rush, of the flood, Sends the blood, To my head The rush, of the flood, Sends the blood, To my head, Climb out, Climb out, oh, Climb out, Climb out, oh, Climb out, Climb out, over me, Climb out, Climb out, oh, Climb out, Climb out, oh, Climb out, Climb out, over me, Into the great wide open. |
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