Free Four - 2011 Remastered Version

One, two, free, four
The memories of a man in his old age
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
You shuffle in gloom of the sick room
And talk to yourself as you die.
Life is a short, warm moment
Death is a long cold rest.
You get your chance to try
In the twinkling of an eye
For eighty years with luck or even less.
So all aboard for the american tour
Maybe you'll make it to the top.
Mind how you go
I can tell you 'cuz I know,
You may find it hard to get off.
You are the angel of death,
And I am the dead man's son.
He was burried like a mole in a fox hole.
And everyone's still on the run.
And who is the master of fox-hounds?
And who says the hunt has begun?
And who calls the tune in the courtroom?
And who beats the funeral drum?
The memories of a man in his old age
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
You shuffle in gloom of the sick room
And talk to yourself as you die.
End.