|
The sky sheds elegeies |
|
As you pass another cape |
|
A silent company |
|
On a way without repose |
|
Behind the dunes |
|
And the shifting sands of cinnamon |
|
A lost and lonely pavement |
|
Of unconquered sanctuaries |
|
Of untouched reveries echoing |
|
Like leftovers - dragged through time and memory |
|
Like leftovers - that live on as seasons pass |
|
Like leftovers - never let you go |
|
And all that remains |
|
Is moulded in the last light of the setting sun |
|
And all that is retained |
|
Is nothing but an image without words |
|
And all that is means nothing anymore |
|
Not that it was |
|
Always beautiful |
|
Not that it was |
|
Something to hold dear |
|
But in the end it was |
|
Just another puzzled piece of you |
|
Now you're a martyr seeking nails |
|
To match those precious wounds |
|
Always looking back |
|
Looking back to something that you lack |
|
Like leftovers - that will never let you go |
|
Like leftovers - under the sky of a fallen paradise |
|
Like leftovers - never let you go |
|
And all that remains |
|
Is moulded in the last light of the setting sun |
|
And all that is retained |
|
Is nothing but an image without words |
|
And all that remains doesn't mean anything at all |
|
Like leftovers - dragged through time and memory |
|
Like leftovers - that do not speak no more |
|
Like leftovers - under the sky of a fallen paradise |
|
Like leftovers - that will never let you grown |
|
And all that remains |
|
Is moulded in the last light of the setting sun |
|
And all that is retained |
|
Is nothing but an image without words |
|
And all that remains can be folded in a purse |
