He is sitting on a hillA vapid night is crawling through the valeThe trees are fangs of transiencyThe demons forge hammers and nails
The spring is in the airThe sirens in the skiesThe wind is in his hairThe morning's in his eyesThe rain turns onAnd he will beOn the phoneThe world has left alone...
He will travel all the waysThat lead to the unknown landsTime has distorted his viewAn amen in his due
The spring is in the airThe sirens in the skiesThe wind is in his hairThe morning's in his eyesThe rain turns onAnd he will beOn the phoneThe world has left alone...
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