Pouring whiskey in dried-out bodies Coarsely hewn by wood and love Deep inside them smolders slowly Thick as yeast, green bitterness
Helpless, their eyes are blind And all their thoughts are simple And all their songs are trival Their loves have gone sour And all their looks are vacant The art they makes lacks the challenge All their minds are empty All their thoughts are simple All their songs and books are trivial
Birds who once flew with passion Now they're easily caught with bare hands Locked in cages, learning their lessons Bullets for the already dead
Tasteless, our tongues are dumb And all our speeches are hollow And all our books are shallow And all our looks are vacant The art we make lacks the challenge All our thoughts are simple All our songs and books are trivial
Birds who once flew with passion Can easily be caught with bare hands Locked in cages, learning their lessons Bullets for the already dead
Can you still see the stars?
It's hard to think of the ocean With the sweet stench of piss in your hair Morning air still invades every wallpaper cell Year after year after year
All these years those walls were empty Curtains yellowed, now white with mold Lardy plaster, the paint is peeling From the ashtray: swathes of blue smoke
Black rain falls the seventh time Dearly white sheets weeping like shrouds This is the chamber where their God spent his final hour Can you still see the stars through layers of grey? Or have the city-lights taken their place?
The stars are fading away
We march in circles under jupiter's sway Eyes will fall prey to the cheat One more surrender and we'll suffer defeat