We love them. We mourn for them. Unlucky boys of red. I wish I'd gone down. Gone down with them. To where mother nature. Makes their bed. We miss them. Every night we kiss them. Their faces fixed in our heads. I wish I'd gone down. Gone down with them. To where mother nature. Makes their bed. They can't hurt you. Their style will never desert you. Because they're all safely dead. I wish I'd gone down. Gone down with them. To where mother nature. Makes their bed