It seems to me that the winter’s just beginning
We all feel the cold but no one seems to be winning
My brother and your brother went off to fight
It reminds me of words in an old nursery rhythm

The dead leaves have fallen down from the market
It seems however hard we try none can predict it
Moneys not funny in the wrong mans hands
And it stains just like oil, like blood on dead glands

I don’t know who but someone warned me of this one
I don’t know you but I’ll hate you if they pay me
Enough of this fighting over long dead religion
I ask you ‘If we are all losing who the fuck is winning?’