AND PEOPLE CALL ME TRAITOR TO MY FACE

But the Rose I sickened with a scarlet fever
and the Swan I tempted with a sense of shame
She said at last I was her finest lover
and if she withered I would be to blame
The judges said you missed it by a fraction
rise up and brace your troops for the attack
Ah the dreamers ride against the men of action
Oh see the men of action falling back 

But I lingered on her thighs a fatal moment
I kissed her lips as though I thirsted still
My falsity had stung me like a hornet
The poison sank and it paralysed my will

I could not move to warn all the younger soldiers
that they had been deserted from above
So on battlefields from here to Barcelona
I'm listed with the enemies of love

ENTÃO UM GOSTO SACRIFICA, POR VEZES, UMA LEGIÃO (DE ÚRIAS?).  A FIM DE QUE SE ATENTE, NOVAMENTE, PARA O PREJUÍZO DO QUE NEM SEMPRE ERA PARA SER AMOR.