| Do you need to be heard?
|
| Do you have to be seen?
|
| Do not think you get enough in return
|
| If you make your art for me?
|
| At least he does to you
|
| Suitcase do you do what you do?
|
| You have to ask yourself
|
| Imagine if no one was watching
|
| Would you still?
|
| Not because you want to, but because you have to
|
| Only for yourself, not for a nation
|
| That is what would be a sensation
|
| Do you have to be bought?
|
| Do you have to be killed?
|
| And set yourself up for a great price
|
| Is there no prayer?
|
| No folded hands?
|
| No thread that twists strongly enough
|
| Twists around your foot
|
| And forcing you to take root?
|
| So you can grow big and strong
|
| Whole for yourself, in peace, not for a nation
|
| That is what would be a sensation
|
| Hold my hand like a sculptor holds his form
|
| No one teases the one who is carved in stone
|
| You are so close to perfection
|
| Part of a nature
|
| So there must be a God behind it
|
| And imagine if it was all he had created
|
| Not for us, or our nation
|
| That is what would be a sensation
|
| We can stand close together like two straws
|
| Or suffocate for us if we have to
|
| And the wind can crush as hard as he wants
|
| It means nothing about both you and me shoes cracking
|
| If in a river we drown
|
| If you and my shoes are on fire
|
| For me is already in flames
|
| And in the ground our seed shoes sprouted
|
| And me shoes sprouted again, me two
|
| Only for ourselves, not for a nation
|
| That is what would be a sensation |