Текст песни THE DISAPPOINTED - BEAT CRUSADERS

All shuffle round in circles
Their placards look the same
With a picture and a name
Of the ones who broke their hearts

All congregate at my house
Their voices sob with grief
That they want to be chief
Of the tribe with broken hearts

Once, I had no sympathy
For those destroyed and thrown away by love
Seems, your ring upon my finger
Signifies that I've become the spokesman of...

Will bear me on their shoulders
To a secret shadow land
Where a sombre marching band
Plays a tune for broken hearts

And day grows darker now
Everywhere, everywhere

Are coming in their millions
They're spilling from the bus
At a monument to us
Made of bits of broken heart

Are growing every second
They blot the sun to black
At the bottom of the pack
I'm the king of broken hearts