| Roads, these roads are clad in smoke
|
| Your talks are drifting past like trains — they scarcely stop
|
| Now I’m gone astray in here
|
| Where tired walls are chattering: Don’t stay! |
| Don’t stay!
|
| … and all the ones around me are fainting shapes again
|
| Fear has shut away your dreams
|
| You walk towards a smokescreen, fretful tool
|
| I start to sing a song about the cat with the silvery paws
|
| She plays with starry blades of grass and dreams her little life away
|
| I wonder where I am — under the snow in a sunday cloak
|
| But you just say I’d think too much
|
| Maybe you’re right — who will ever know? |