It's beautiful now, and my feet are on the ground.
Beautiful now, but I'll not long be where I am now.
I've come down to nothing, and I can't win for anything.
Grey sky after grey sky wont make anything better,
so sell off your dreams on account of the wheather.
Beautiful now - the clouds come down.
Gently they roll in, not like they storm. Not like they, no, not like they storm.

So say now anything to lovers entering an unknown mystery - go not like they storm.
Say now anything to heroes exiting a hard fought victory - go not like they storm.
Come tell me anything of dark days forthcoming in my untold history - I'll go not like they storm.