| How many more days of this stillness
|
| Before the fire will blow out
|
| A restless wind did use to stir it
|
| But its wind-still and the silence is loud
|
| How many more days of disorder
|
| Of drunkenly raving around
|
| I’ve been sleeping down here among minions
|
| Their carelessness scattered about
|
| Trapped in a body that doesn’t act on thought
|
| I have a sense of utopia
|
| Of what I truly ought to do
|
| Born onto the tide
|
| Is it really any wonder that I’m here like this
|
| An alliance in body and mind
|
| Such a perfect lover i could become
|
| How many
|
| How many hollow declarations will follow
|
| Lulled into a trance
|
| I have been sitting in congress with nations
|
| Rubbing my perspiring hands
|
| How many attempts will it take to
|
| Bloom in splendorous foul
|
| Now I’m so tender and wingless
|
| Gangling out on the prowl
|
| Trapped in a body that doesn’t act on thought
|
| I have a sense of utopia
|
| Of what I truly ought to do
|
| Born onto the tide
|
| Is it really any wonder that I’m here like this
|
| An alliance in body and mind
|
| Such a perfect lover i could become
|
| How many
|
| How many
|
| How many
|
| How many
|
| How many |