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He crosses halls he always goes upstairs just still busied on his own affairs none stops him or a question asks none need workman at his task that makes his own religion law below the gangway I never saw they used his name to serve the end and others left old souls to mend that's a meaning deep that's a whisper low he lets the solemn warning flow as a bubble bursting on the air through jewelled ears of creatures fair little fingers that feel for their home on my breast little lips that appeal for their nurture they rest drain, drain at the the stream that's born in a dream the unknown, the unseen the joys that have been you know the green and the scarlet of park you know the undulating streets of dark Songtexteyou know tha faces full of pain you know the field of the passing way would you like to kiss me? [il senso di colpa dell'umanista ovvero il tormento dell'artista] Aus Songtexte Mania