Make no mistakes, my voice is clear. And though it may be a subtle threat:
Mayflower, swing low, because your love has such few regrets.
We cannot distinguish all of the world. So celebrate and sing along.
It is a gift. It’s where I belong.
Straight down and to the east, I place my hands out in front of me.
We are all the crowd. To the sweet by and by I come.
To the crowd be blessed. I swear I won’t let you choke. You give me nothing but
rest and a loving hand. I belong to the war.
I belong to your side. I cant hold my breath but I swear I think this is the
start. That’s the nature of the beast.
If we have nothing left but death, it’s a clear but subtle threat.
'The south is where I lay my sword and the stage is where my heart will rest'.
We are the crowd.