We start our search in hope for the mainland.
The sailors spoke in different tongues
of islands drifting, changing shape in years.
I think we stand on melting ice.

When night falls, we watch out,
hope for hints in the sky
to leave this confusion,
no earth to stop my mind.
And again it pulls me
to use my words alone,
free from all friction.
Abandon metaphysical high!

I felt the air slow down my glide.

The pictures that we've painted are outnumbered.
Galleries became a maze.
Discuss, debate, hope for a revolution.
Can't even say that it's in vain.

I felt the air slow down my glide,
so higher I ascend.
Wish for the empty space to guide me
without effort through my mind.
In outer space I drift
I can't find a way down,
a kind of satellite, that's spinning all around,
a kind of satellite, that's spinning all around.

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.