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letras de
Jethro Tull
WIND-UP
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Letra y Significado de
WIND-UP,
Jethro Tull
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Letra
Oh no! Esta misteriosa letra aun no encontro explicación. Si estas acá, podes ser la primer persona que aporte el significado de esta canción. No es necesario registrarse, puede ser anonimo. Hace clic en el botón verde y envianos tu opinión.
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When i was young and they packed me off to school
and they taught me how not to play the game.
i didn't mind if they groomed me for success
or if they said that i was just a fool.
so i left there in the morning with their god tucked underneath my arm -
their half - assed smiles and the book of rules.
and i asked this god a question and by way of firm reply
he said - i'm not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
so to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
before i'm through, i'd like to say my prayers -
i don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong -
he's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
well you can excommunicate me on my way to sunday school
and have all the bishops harmonise these lines -
how do you dare to tell me that i'm my father's son
when that was just an accident of birth.
i'd rather look around me - compose a better song
'cos that's the honest measure of my worth.
in your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me
as you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
i don't believe you:
you had the whole damn thing all wrong -
he's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
Corregir Letra
Corregir Letra
When i was young and they packed me off to school and they taught me how not to play the game. i didn't mind if they groomed me for success or if they said that i was just a fool. so i left there in the morning with their god tucked underneath my arm - their half - assed smiles and the book of rules. and i asked this god a question and by way of firm reply he said - i'm not the kind you have to wind up on sundays. so to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares): before i'm through, i'd like to say my prayers - i don't believe you: you had the whole damn thing all wrong - he's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays. well you can excommunicate me on my way to sunday school and have all the bishops harmonise these lines - how do you dare to tell me that i'm my father's son when that was just an accident of birth. i'd rather look around me - compose a better song 'cos that's the honest measure of my worth. in your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me as you lick the boots of death born out of fear. i don't believe you: you had the whole damn thing all wrong - he's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
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