You were right
The sun cannot shine all the time
And at the moment it's raining through the roof
The feint drip drop on hard floor
It's an aquired art:
Finding comfort in wet hay
I have no fight left in me
And nothing to fight for
So why do I still get up and continue walking?
The grip of routine sits tight, stiff neck
It is ecxpected of us to do well in times of madess
All for a meal and a thin coat in times of winter
Doesn't sit well with me
Vincent, Vincent
You were right
Great art always comes from a place of pain
That sat for a while
Settled down, fermented and aged
It turned sour
Hear, hear
Father, if you're offering now
The kindness and cruelty of metal and powder
Centuries of craft
Coming togehter now pressed against my temple
The ground feels cold under me
Let's confess these sins
If I get to choose
I'd say : pull the cord!
Away with the strings, and all the ropes still holding me in place!
I want to collapse
In life:
A mediocre artist amongst many
They'll say
But at least with a shot for happiness
One bullet in the chamber goes round and round
So empty it echos
A cheap ride in the carousell
One click
And the world finally gets quieter
Embrace the fog at the end of men
Savour the dawn
Light up your homes to keep you warm
End of scene
No need to raise the curtains for my Spiel
Just remember
I was a real boy Gepetto