Your sword's grown old [bad word] 
Burnt beneath the rising sun
It's locked up like a trophy
Forgetting all the things it's done

And though it's been a long time
You're right back where you started from
I see it in your eyes
That now you're giving up the gun

When I was 17
I had wrists like steel
And I [bad word] 

And now my body fades
Behind a brass charade
And I'm obsolete

But if the chance remained
To see those better days
I'd cut the cannons down

My ears are blown to bits
From all the rifle hits
But I still crave that sound

 [bad word] 

I heard you play guitar
Down at a seedy bar
Where skinheads used to fight

Your Tokugawa smile
And your garbage style
Used to save the night

You felt [bad word] wave
Told me we'd all be brave
You said you wouldn't flinch

But in the years that passed
Since I saw you last
You haven't moved an inch

 [bad word] 

I see you shine in your way
Go on, go on, go on

 [bad word]