The motorway won't take a horse.
The wanderer has found a course to follow.
The traveller unpacked his bags for the last time.
The troubadour cut off his hand and now he wants mine,

(Oh, no )

Oh no, not me.

The circus girl fell off her horse, now shes paralysed.
The hitchiker was bound and gagged, raped on the roadside.
The libertine is locked in jail.
The pirate sunk and broke his sail.

But I still have to go,
I've got to go, so here I go,
I'm gonna run the risk of being free.

The magicians secrets all revealed.
And the preachers lies are all concealed.
And all our heroes lack any conviction.
They shout through the bars of cliche and addiction.

So I've got to go,
I've got to go, so here I go
I'm gonna run the risk of being free.

And in this drought of truth and invention, whooever shouts the loudest gets the most attention, so we pass the mic and they've got nothing to say except:

Bow down, bow down, bow down to your god.

Then we hit the floor, and make ourselves and idol to bow before.

Well I can't,
And I won't
Bow down,
Anymore...

No more.