Apart in New York, London and Paris Where will we rest, we’re all living on top of it It’s all that we have the use is our daily bread And no one is willing to share it Why can’t we see our fortunancy? Living as legends have lived Bane and dismembered we coax all the time Knowing that nothing is left when we die Come along fool A direct hit of the senses you are disconnected It’s not that it’s bad; it’s not that it’s dead It’s just on the tip of your tongue, and you’re so silent Wanting to live and laugh all the time Sitting alone with you tea and your crime Children with kids, and people with parents Anywhich way there’s no past and no presence When the day comes and all of them bums Will reveal enchanting persons Come along A direct hit of the senses you are disconnected It’s not that it’s bad; it’s not that it’s dead It’s just on the tip of your tongue, and you’re so silent When it’s a rut and baby’s no luck Half of its misunderstanding love The war we have on we’re winning again Within ourselves and within our friends Come along A direct hit of the senses you are disconnected It’s not that it’s bad; it’s not that it’s dead It’s just on the tip of your tongue, and you’re so silent编辑于2008/05/24更新