| Oh, isn’t it a pity
|
| That we mostly dance alone
|
| In a distant self-reflection
|
| Revolved around our own
|
| Marvel galaxies of dream reality
|
| We’re painters of a picture that no one else can see
|
| And you reach out through that wall of glass
|
| And you’re running from the promises
|
| That have been made to you in the past
|
| All those *belly-out* Tourette nights
|
| Filled with snowy little white lies
|
| Scattered out like cold rain jazz lines
|
| There’s a pulling restless wild eyes
|
| Screwed myself and I see twighlight
|
| Squad leader drop the white light
|
| I would like to fly alone
|
| Everybody is now a daby
|
| And bourbon clouds fill out the room
|
| Everybody smiles like candy
|
| The wrongly map start to
|
| Uu
|
| And you reach out through that wall of glass
|
| You’re travelling the stage at last
|
| And you’re running from the promises
|
| That you have made way back in the past
|
| You’re a stranger in a house of glass
|
| And you need too much too fast
|
| And you’re floating down an endless stream
|
| And you’re waiting for the crash |