In the autumn of our life
the season of the falling leaves
we’re waiting for the snow to come
covering our secrets
What we see is what we desire
what we desire is what we knew
arranged in sleepless nights
on the altar of our memories
While troops are walking forward
we’re stepping backwards
nervous angels of the resurrection
carrying extincted swords
Time keeps ticking louder
and we are falling down down down
fresh air is tearing us to pieces -
rip-cords are designed for losers
|
We run for cover, run for revelation,
the public enemy beside ourselves
we’re moving straight ahead
and standing still
this is the way we walk
Beginnings without endings is
what we’re longing
what we’re begging for
a different view through ancient eyes
and we swear to smell
a taste of change
When it’s time to meet our maker
we’re prepared for inquisition
but paralyzed we lose our sight
to the hated face behind the mirror |
