Song on the radio, we are like, we are like nothing.
Somebody threw a love grenade, broken dreams, broken, in sorrow.
Half-light grows deep past my troubles, in the sun and over uncovered.
Sunlight, moonlight, everything comes out,
Never-ending stories, never-ending lies.
Some of us may dream, some of us may wonder,
Some may even fly, but all of us will die.
Some of us follow, some of us conquer,
Some of us fly, but all of us die.
Song on the radio, remember words once spoken.
Misty clouds, lost in space, lost in time, eternity is hidden.
History has been put down, what would I’ve said, what would I have done?
Smell of violence, echoes in the distance, buried in our dreams these never-ending lies.
M+L: Yves Schelpe