The weeks pass by hand in hand
With the melting ice in your glass
The soldiers have returned from their crusades
And landed on the coast
Drawn by a spotlight like moths to a flame
With the melting ice in your glass
The soldiers have returned from their crusades
And landed on the coast
Drawn by a spotlight like moths to a flame
Betrayed by the kiss of fame falling to the stage
We never fell for fakes or television rage
But the truth of it all is the only things you know
Are the things you'll never say
When you see the close-ups of the emperor's new clothes
The seventh veil has lifted
They've opened up the gates
And now the price of doing business is the broadcast light
I'm busy channel switching myself to sleep
They're dancing on a stage or bleeding in the streets
But the truth of it all is the only things you want
Are the things you'll never get
When you see the close-ups of the emperor's new clothes
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