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Walking through the streets plexus |
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The air smells like plethoric fantasies |
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Esplanades are littered with debris |
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Streets are filled with eclectic melodies |
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Looking forward, moving straight ahead |
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Old diary pages in hand |
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Moving silent through the city of mind |
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That shows its dirty seamy side |
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There is something stronger than him... |
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[CHORUS] |
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The only thing that keeps him going |
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Is the fact that he could stop someday |
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Turn these hateful streets to ruins |
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Now he sees his only way |
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Keeping the silence, |
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thinking aloud |
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Multiform thoughts |
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like furious crowd |
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No changes |
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in distand perspective |
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To destroy all around |
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It is only objective |
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Poet is in the gripe |
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of the pages |
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Dancers are trapped |
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in the rib cages |
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Broken strings |
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sound like desperate cries |
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And city stares into his tired eyes... |
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There is something stronger than him... |
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[CHORUS] |
