| Walking the ways
|
| Of some dates and some lives
|
| Observing the traits
|
| Of a long time dead child
|
| Pictures and paints
|
| Are the tricks of mankind
|
| Leading astray our credulous minds
|
| Our credulous minds!
|
| We are words
|
| We are mayflies
|
| We all vanish in time
|
| From our very first cries
|
| We’re all dying inside
|
| Walking around… all these instants in time
|
| Losing myself… in the museum’s aisles
|
| It marks my heart
|
| With a red-hot iron
|
| Do you feel the weight
|
| Of these dates in my rhymes?
|
| My rhymes? |
| In time!
|
| Will they survive? |
| In time!
|
| We are words
|
| We are mayflies
|
| We all vanish in time
|
| From our very first cries
|
| We’re all dying inside
|
| Let the dust… cover it
|
| Under the rust… We are lost
|
| These pictures… all of us
|
| We’ll all vanish… in time…
|
| We are words
|
| We are mayflies
|
| We all vanish in time
|
| From our very first cries
|
| We’re all dying inside
|
| Like the movies we watch
|
| And the books that we read
|
| About the old times
|
| Though we may sometimes think
|
| That in parallel world their story lives on
|
| But we are forced to admit
|
| That they’re, for ages, gone
|
| Walking the ways
|
| Of these instants in time
|
| These pictures will remain
|
| But they’re just a trick
|
| Cos' them… us… we’ll all…
|
| We’ll all… vanish… in time! |