| There is no way to follow me
|
| Asking my name is threatening me
|
| Always ready to talk
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| To the passers-by
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| The way they look
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| I am simplified…
|
| I’ll get bored of just being here
|
| I’ve kept holding on so long
|
| Yeah
|
| I keep searching for the exit
|
| To feel alive beyond tears
|
| Small shop windows are churning out
|
| All kinds of dools with frozen smiles
|
| But I can’t see any of my kind…
|
| Except the bright ligths of the streets… or my mind
|
| Yeah
|
| I’ve been told: Life’s a phobia
|
| But like a bold one, I still feel my utopia
|
| Yeah
|
| I will go on for my melodia
|
| Keeping my mind in insomnia
|
| Sirens calling and I telll them to come soon
|
| Everyday they’re calling night time…
|
| Silence calls when I feel down and heaven lingers on
|
| In the dawn;
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| A real dawn!
|
| Naked in the dawn we fly into the night
|
| Wasted in the fog we cry for the light
|
| While I’m closing in… closing inside
|
| While I’m closing inside… in every way
|
| Way…
|
| Way…
|
| With a faded scarf on his head
|
| He tries to infiltrate
|
| To the crowd cover
|
| His red eyes of yesterday
|
| Under his rasta hair
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail
|
| To be free in jail…
|
| What’s it to be like a big dipper, a teen whore scream?
|
| That’s not what I believe in…
|
| Though just to be high, used to be cruel
|
| Don’t wanna be just high and tied to the flashlights
|
| And strobos of mind
|
| I don’t feel that I belong in here
|
| Right, I, beneath the chrome metal escalators
|
| I, (hi!), don’t feel that I belong in here
|
| Here |