Four oclock in the morning and still we cannot sleep Turning over, turning round, twisting in our sweat They say there is no rest for the wicked ones Dear God, what have we done? There is no rest for the wicked ones Dear God, what is this evil that weve done? Is it that we wanted more than you gave? Why did you put us then in this smalltown grave? Humility is that what you want? Why did you make us then the way you did? Yes we have pride is this our sin? Is it the times that weve been out fighting? Well Ill tell you all those times we never really hurt anybody Or is it that we were eating While other people were starving? Is this our crime? Four oclock in the morning and still we cannot sleep... Is it the times we laughed about it all Through all those whisky nights so far away?
oclock, wicked, four, dear, smalltown