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Good god with a thick stroke of the brush The evening sky gets a crimson blush I rolled downhill got some time to kill Whistling with the jingle of the leaves Like the chord in a though seam my soul was strung Waiting for a hand that's skilmed and young to make it howl Make it come undone I turn my will away from the city core Trot towards it’s gritty shore Rattling the freight of park benches Mistaken for angels Past the neon cross the neo-lost Ransack their pockets for a light Poems recited into earliness There is a man in horror banging on his chest Drifting on a floe that's broken off the rest And that stroke of paint I was talking about before is Drying up and getting porous In too deep I'm in too deep And I can’t get out no more Aus Songtexte Mania