Now the suns gone to hell And the moons riding high. Let me bid you farewell Every man has to die. But it's written in the starlight And every line on your palm. Were fools to make war On our brothers in arms.
— Dire Straits
Now the suns gone to hell And the moons riding high. Let me bid you farewell Every man has to die. But it's written in the starlight And every line on your palm. Were fools to make war On our brothers in arms.
— Dire Straits