| Just look
|
| At where we’re coming from
|
| And where we seem to be heading towards
|
| Those lights
|
| Well, are they flames?
|
| Or are they lights sent to guide the way?
|
| No way of knowing until we get to them
|
| But when we then arrive
|
| Perhaps we will burn
|
| Or perhaps bathe in light
|
| One thing I can assure
|
| Is that now, today, we’re blind
|
| Lost, cold and afraid
|
| Growing old and turning gray
|
| Hating the player, growing tired of the whole
|
| Damn game
|
| They say
|
| «When you finally learn to live»
|
| Then, it’s already too late
|
| So never get so far
|
| So far so no good
|
| No trace
|
| No word
|
| Grief
|
| Joy
|
| Lust
|
| Pain
|
| Tethered to this somber frame
|
| Afraid and ashamed
|
| Scared of the place
|
| Disturbed by the whole
|
| Damn game
|
| There are a million songs
|
| That we will never hear
|
| Sights that
|
| Sights that we’ll never see
|
| Kisses that we’ll never share
|
| It’s do, or don’t, or die
|
| Eat
|
| Sleep
|
| Pray
|
| Take our place amongst the graves
|
| Like good little slaves
|
| No longer a player
|
| No longer a game |