3/4

They´re selling colors to the blind
They who see the world black and white
And what´s it all worth then
If they´re the writers and you´re the pen

You learned that traps are everywhere
That it´s bad to the bone out there
You gaze at the young sky
Young yourself but the age in your eyes

Let´s run from this desert here
The eyes are cloudy but the sight is clear
And no more sand between your teeth
I know you´re torn between scorn and release
But who on earth do you think
Can tell the blessed from the damned

There´s change in every belief
One truth is never to receive
But remember that the critics
Are often louder than the friends

Some traded unity for uniformity
And for what the don´t know
They keep their doors carefully closed

Their porch is clean and nice
The view from the window wide
And the flowers bloom
wildly in the countryside

What should they ever care for?
Tomorrow´s still a long time
When yesterday has not even been here

I know you´re filled up to your knees
And sticking to your heels

The image of rivals and
the ghost of the revival of better days
Why join these lonesome freaks
Who are first to speak and last to hear
And there´s no use in calling
When the winds have already turned

Let´s run from this desert here
The eyes are cloudy but the sight is clear

And no more sand between your teeth

Text: Gabriele Groll