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We are the sainted millions where the howling black birds fly
Hand in hand, we walk on through while the tracers pass us by
We are the tainted living on the p*ss stained old barstools
So raise a pint for those below who are singing beneath our shoes

Sleeping sainted millions can you tell me what you know?
Sing to me a song you wrote beneath your pile of stone
The writings on the granite read so trite and insincere
What do ya feel ya missed about the dash between the years?

Well I would have laughed with a maniacal cry
At some of the things that lead to being kept awake at night

The more you see the more you grow
From Montreal to Tokyo
So ride the highs and take the lows

And I wouldn't trade it for another
And I would do it all again
And I would treat it like a lover
Runaway and take it by the hand

Sleeping sainted millions can you tell me what you know?
Cut down by a bullet from the rifle of a foe
Stripped and stacked and piled and cleaned and lined up in a row
Packed upon a clipper ship and chucked into a hole

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