The black birds fly To mourn the Moon Followed closely By heart alone A thousand torches Ten meters high We'll shoot the whole scene A different knife And wash it all away Up, up, up and away Down below The orchard Is burning Ten thousand extras Brushed past the tides Horsed back the laceman Charged through the ranks The roads were all old At your command As he hand the stones In your hands Throw them all away Throw them all away Way down below The orchard Is burning