Our rapid movement reflects change
Our grim fate is foretold
For the winds are whispering
Of the coming of cold rains
Our grim fate is foretold
For the winds are whispering
Of the coming of cold rains
We are blind to see the disease
As people of distant cities
Summer evening, dying sunlight
The season’s passing by
Flies are circling in the garden
Above the fallen fruits of life
We smell nothing of the autumn yet don’t feel the terminal cold
The sparks of the neon-lights took our sight
Our glass skyscrapers block our skies
We can’t see the clouds till we
We feel the drops on our pale skin
On our pale and fragile skin
Summer evening, dying sunlight
The season’s passing by
Flies are circling in the paradise
Above the fallen fruits of life
Black concrete blocks dripping wet protect
From feeling regret
From hate, fear, pain and denial
But all shelters have to fall
Our ferris-wheels take us high
Yet not above the cobalt-stained skies
Not high enough to escape this rain
Which we brought upon ourselves
A moment of clarity when silent factories
Vomit not smoke and goods but truth
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