| The bell rings. |
| ..
|
| It’s a decade past my decadence
|
| My beast wears rings and he’s waiting
|
| In the shadows of my hesitations, my silent
|
| Hesitations. |
| .. each image is so clear;
|
| It seems i have no hands
|
| The gestures of the air confuse all my demands
|
| And the beast hears the bell; |
| he comes
|
| Out of the shadows. |
| he rips apart the shadows. |
| ..
|
| And he says:
|
| «this is work and not play»
|
| And he says:
|
| «there's always more than one way. |
| ..
|
| This is work not play»
|
| I see the ghosts of my childhood. |
| ..
|
| Dressed in blue, they trail me in the night
|
| They drive these cars with real upholstery
|
| They trail me until. |
| .. here comes the night
|
| She was standing, standing on the balcony
|
| Her black, black eyes folded over her eyelids
|
| Like sheets on motel beds. |
| ..
|
| She must be eatin’reds
|
| This place is filled with mirrors
|
| It echoes what she said
|
| And she said:
|
| «i need a judgement day"and she said:
|
| «i know there’s more than one way,
|
| But i want my judgement day. |
| . |
| .»
|
| Repeat refrain
|
| To sleep without dreams
|
| So distant from the mirror
|
| Imitating clarity, disguising
|
| All the terror. |
| .. i heard a thousand bells
|
| From a thousand old cathedrals
|
| They rang. |
| .. i haven’t heard them since
|
| A decade past my decadence
|
| The beast hears the bell
|
| I’m cursed to be a singer
|
| A singer of the flames
|
| A thinker of a fire
|
| And a son without a name |