Apart in New York, London and Paris

Where will we rest, we’re all living on top of it

It’s all that we have the use is our daily bread

And no one is willing to share it

Why can’t we see our fortunancy?

Living as legends have lived

Bane and dismembered we coax all the time

Knowing that nothing is left when we die

Come along fool

A direct hit of the senses you are disconnected

It’s not that it’s bad; it’s not that it’s dead

It’s just on the tip of your tongue, and you’re so silent

Wanting to live and laugh all the time

Sitting alone with you tea and your crime

Children with kids, and people with parents

Anywhich way there’s no past and no presence

When the day comes and all of them bums

Will reveal enchanting persons

Come along

A direct hit of the senses you are disconnected

It’s not that it’s bad; it’s not that it’s dead

It’s just on the tip of your tongue, and you’re so silent

When it’s a rut and baby’s no luck

Half of its misunderstanding love

The war we have on we’re winning again

Within ourselves and within our friends

Come along

A direct hit of the senses you are disconnected

It’s not that it’s bad; it’s not that it’s dead

It’s just on the tip of your tongue, and you’