It loomed up on a perfect day:
The glorious return of my hope.
They try to shut me away again,
I'm almost out of control.
Their way will not change,
They will fail 'till you come.
The glorious return of my hope.
They try to shut me away again,
I'm almost out of control.
Their way will not change,
They will fail 'till you come.
I hid behind all these veils
(a little disguise is not bad…!).
Then it became a symptom again:
A big disorder in my head.
Their way will not change
(instead they will begin a new game),
But they will fail 'till you come.
They'll taste my pain,
My blame, my rage,
My cynicism in rough state.
Should i trust my intuition?
It's up to me from now on.
No matter how good i can live between states out of control…
Their speech will not change
(instead they will invent a new disease).
But they will fail: i'm in command .
They'll taste my pain,
My blame, my rage,
My cynicism in rough state.
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