| Hands tied we’re ready to, ready to force
|
| Hands-off we’re ready for, ready for more
|
| Hands tied we’re ready to force our fucking
|
| -selves
|
| Once more to become quite every shit
|
| We’re feeling sorry for
|
| At least in this scene
|
| All different ideals correspond
|
| To settle down and take their seats
|
| To petrify paralysed as one
|
| As one silent attender
|
| Thousands of reflections make it so easy for
|
| You to surrender
|
| Numbness' footprints are even too big to be
|
| Filled as you realise this voice
|
| Unknow still somehow leaves you
|
| Thrilled telling you: «the
|
| Trend’s set, you’re free to call
|
| It yours»
|
| Hands tied ready to
|
| Force — ourselves
|
| Hands tied
|
| Ready for more
|
| Analysis
|
| Paralysis — breaking, rebuilding
|
| Over and over again
|
| As smaller parts get lost
|
| In this process of making believe that you still
|
| Got in hands what’s already
|
| Gone, that you still feel all the
|
| Things turned already numb
|
| Hands tied we’re ready to, ready
|
| To force
|
| Hands-off we’re ready
|
| For, ready for more
|
| Hands tied
|
| We’re ready to force ourselves
|
| Feel free to call it yours:
|
| Your child — still bearing all
|
| It’s dignity
|
| Your mother — able
|
| To give birth to you so
|
| Desperately
|
| And perform your
|
| Abortion at the same time
|
| Your
|
| Father — releasing a pulse and
|
| Leaving you and everything behind
|
| My fingers went through hard
|
| Times
|
| As servants for a fake
|
| Solution
|
| It took 'em years to
|
| Convince the rest
|
| That the act
|
| Of watching has never been the problem
|
| It always went way beyond this
|
| Way beyond a shallow
|
| Rendez vous — shallow but
|
| Colourful
|
| Eyes up the pylon
|
| With every second flags are waving
|
| More and more in shiny red
|
| Yellow and blue |