a bunch of lonesome and very quarrelsome heroes
were smoking out along the open road;
the night was very dark and thick between them,
each man beneath his ordinary load.
"i´d like to tell my story,"
said one of them so young and bold,
"i´d like to tell my story,
before i turn into gold."
but no one really could hear him,
the night so dark and thick and green;
well i guess that these heroes must always live there
where you and i have only been.
put out your cigarette, my love,
you´ve been alone too long;
and some of us are very hungry now
to hear what it is you´ve done that was so wrong.

i sing this for the crickets,
i sing this for the army,
i sing this for your children
and for all who do not need me.
"i´d like to tell my story,"
said one of them so bold,
"oh yes, i´d like to tell my story
´cause you know i feel i´m turning into gold."