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lirik lagu heroes – bill sutton

nathas was a man of sense with both feet on the ground
he lived a quiet life inside a solid little town
he scoffed at tales of magic, tales of glory, tales of war
and he asked himself the question: what are heroes really for?

so life went on for nathas as he worked his fields by day
each night, he’d lock the stable and he’d put his tools away
and he’d hurry home to see his joy, his daughters four and three
and he’d hear his own voice whisper, as he held them on his knee

man may live alone at peace, but nations go to war
and men may wake to find a battle waiting at their door
when nathas in his stable heard a child cry out his name
he ran outside to find his neighbor’s house engulfed in flame

he saw nothing else except his neighbor’s son amidst the pyre
heard no other voice until he’d pulled him from the fire
then he raised his tearing eyes and saw his own house light the sky
he saw his wife fall burning, and he heard his daughters die

so what’s a hero do that makes a hero worth a d*mn?
why should a hero want me any way but how i am?
my life is just this town, my work is all i see
i don’t care for heroes; why should heroes care for me?
he saw the army marching off into the rising sun
he heard their leaders praise them for the burning they had done
he stirred his stable’s ashes and he found a smoldering blade
so he ran into the forest, with the knife that he had made

he tracked them for a fortnight and each night he watched their lamps
he learned the sentry movements, then he crept into the camp
he found the leaders’ throats and slit them all a second grin
the last cried out before he died, and guards came rushing in

they didn’t k!ll him outright, they thought nathas was a spy
but while they tried to break him, they were hit from every side
and when the clash was over and his countrymen had won
they took him home in glory for the things that he had done

now nathas is an older man who cries alone each night
he walks the town in silence and the elders cheer his sight
but the young men, raised in peacetime, lift their eyebrows as they pass

and he hears his own voice echo in the questions that they ask:
so what’s a hero do that makes a hero worth a d*mn?
why should a hero want me any way but how i am?
my life is just this town, my work is all i see
i don’t care for heroes; why should heroes care for me?

- bill sutton

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