Текст Billy Corgan – To Scatter One’s Own

Scatter me out on the prairie
Western gales supine the gray

Not that this matters
It’s not that it’s worn

And the sun must rise
And the sun must rise

Custer sleeps with ball and scythe
A feather on his right
It’s writ in James repent or die
For Enoch chains his scribes

Not that this matters
It’s not that it’s worn
Or threadbare and battered

And the sun must rise on the valley
And the foolish night will lead

Morning comes with death approaching
Echoes pierce to flit thine eye

Sweet but placed, I’m gaunt with age
Slayers mourn but God confides

Not that this matters
It’s not that it’s worn
Or threadbare and tattered
And the sun must rise

Custer sleeps with bell and bride
His brother by his side
A pathway horse will fly and fly
For a stage-lit night on fire

Morning comes with death approaching
Echoes pierce to flit thine eye

Not that this matters
Or not that it’s worn