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The poets and the |
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Socrates was bounding out |
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Their eulogies about what to do |
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The troops with their tangled hair were proven |
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That they didn't care about nothing new |
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And if any body claim being king |
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Would strum guitars |
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And start to sing, but they were fooled |
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The vacuum of their fantasies |
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Had discover the fact |
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You see that chaos rules |
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Everybody run and bare |
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Not exactly knowing where or why or who |
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Chasing kicks that no one gets |
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Kissing on her silhouettes of faded blue |
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Trying to blow one's smoke in air |
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Her favorite answer |
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I don't care |
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It was useless to |
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And when the sun would start to fade |
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This ritual circus of charades would start anew |
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Love don't come don't call my name again |
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I can't play cause |
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I don't know how to win |
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Too bad to and hand in hand they stride |
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I got wind and rain for my future bright |
