Travel

Melodic stanzas
Are symphonizing their way
Through your weary head
To feed your distrust
And fill its mouth with the desire
to soulfully be one with your creation

Not a subject to control
You call upon a higher power
For help and inspiration

The crowd waits
And turns their faces
Towards you expectantly
You give them what they need
But their useless criticism
Makes you die
A bit more inside

Not a subject to control
You call upon a higher power
For help and inspiration

Oh, I swoon
While loudspeakers play soft music

Leaning
Over your fourtieth masterpiece
You must have loved
The colour of these violins

I wish I knew you
Your fit of insanity makes me sad

I wish you knew
Your music was to stay forever
And I hope...

I have no clue
If you know how much it matters
And I hope...

© The Gathering