chair I hope you?ve realized something All those feelings that were just not there ...and all I want to ask from you ...is everything I put you through ...and
wait for (wait for) Wait for me Wait for, wait for, wait for me To take, to take, to take this bullet to the chest I?ve compromised and I?ve confessed And
home in triumph is required (chorus) (Aide #2:) Would Evita win through? (Aide #1:) And the answer is (Aide #2:) Yes (Che:) And no (Aides:) And yes (Che:) And
With friends like you I could throw away my tv Cause I got it all in spades now All triumph and tragedy And when as a kid with a pocket knife Like a
triumph is required (chorus) (Aide #2:) Would Evita win through? (Aide #1:) And the answer is (Aide #2:) Yes (Che:) And no (Aides:) And yes (Che:) And no (Aides:) And
The yellowed page of the books and books I'd forgotten that I had These paperbacks, they know their age they smell Of weight and time that's resting warm
triumph is required [chorus] [Aide #2:] Would Evita win through? [Aide #1:] And the answer is [Aide #2:] Yes [Che:] And no [Aides:] And yes [Che:] And no [Aides:] And
knavery / depravity! Sentences become paragraphs become novels on cold fronts, warm backs. And this town needs an enema. I'll pass the time with a rhythm and
the blood and dirt and gore (oh yeah?) That wasn't part of the dream, (yes, we see) Of maps and generals and uniforms. I'd always like the big parade
something I'm glad to find the old king that rules alone and keeps the power in his hands. I know we reach the triumph, I'm sure we can surprise you
Saints and sinners, losers, winners, masters and their slaves The more you hide one or the other the earlier your grave Oh the triumph and the tragedy, the endless bright parade
triumph is required (chorus) (aide #2:) would evita win through? (aide #1:) and the answer is (aide #2:) yes (che:) and no (aides:) and yes (che:) and no (aides:) and
mean Saints and sinners, losers, winners, masters and their slaves The more you hide one or the other the earlier your grave Oh the triumph and the tragedy, the endless bright parade
: The yellowed page of the books and books I'd forgotten that I had These paperbacks they know their age they smell of weight and time that's resting
