S: e | e | e G | e H7 || e D | C H7 | eD eD | e
R: eD e | eD e | eD e | eD e
- An archry man am I, and Im telling you no lie,
I fight among the swords and spears that trail across the sky.
Theres thunder all around me, theres cries all in the air,
a nasty crash that sounds of death and dust all in my hair.
And its Draw! Aim! Shoot! until the fighting stops,
and evry time an arrow hits another foeman drops.
(and it stops.)
- My weapon is a piece of wood, a trusty staff of yew,
some fourty shafts ride on my belt, all steel-tipped, straight and true.
My father taught me how to shoot, I trained many a day
and in the woods and in the war Im sure to get my prey.
- So whos our foes and allies, it is not hard to tell:
We fight for those who pay the most, our loyaltys for sale!
And if there is no one around, who pays us fairly well,
well sit and watch the battle let others go to hell.
- Were shooting from the shield wall, above our allies heads,
and hope it will protect us from any direct threats.
Why should we risk our lives at all by joining in the fray,
when we can fell the enemy a hundred yards away?
- We fight against the horsemen to halt them in their charge,
we shoot at troops advancing, they may be small or large.
When they get near our marksmen, well take their leaders out,
for soldiers who dont get commands will soon be in a rout.
- The foemen may be charging or hide behind their shield,
in our hail of arrows their armor must be yield.
Our mark is true and we make sure they never will draw nigh,
when arrow clouds blot out the sun and death rains from the sky.
(Refrain als Kanon)
T: Frieder Pfeiffer, Kati Kania und Klaus Gaßner, August 2000. M: Ron Angel, Chemical Workers Song (I.C.I. Song)
Original: Chemical Workers Song (I.C.I. Song)
Go, boys, go
They time your every breath
Every day youre in this place
Youre two days nearer death
But you go
A process man am I, Im telling you no lie
I work and breathe among the fumes that trail across the sky
Theres thunder all around me, poison in the air
A lousy smell that smacks of hell, dust all in my hair.
Ive worked among the spinners, breathed in the oily smoke
Shovelled at the gypsum that nigh on makes you choke
Ive stood knee-deep in cyanide, got sick with the caustic burn
Been working rough, seen enough to make your stomach turn.
Theres overtime and bonus, opportunities galore
Young men like the money, they all come back for more
But soon youre knocking on, looking older than you should
For every bob made on this job is earned with sweat and blood.
T&M: Ron Angel. Quelle