The world, the world is all mixed up
In revenues and national identity,
But the repetition of history offers nothing to ease the suffering
Of the good intentions of liberty.
We were once both children,
With boundless dreams,
Without responsibilities, knowing nothing of working in a factory.
And now the time has come to offer up our greatest philosophies.
Well you, you and I both know the sad price of victory -
It's the secret aching scream of gasoline and poverty.
So if the overwhelming truth is the ugliness of reality,
Then when they call my name, I'm counting on this melody to save me,
And I'll be unemployed in Greenland,
Unemployed in Greenland,
Unemployed in Greenland,
Unemployed in Greenland.
So won't you come visit me?