We The ones who think in eternity Are snails Creeping on razors of bone
We slice ourselves upon every step Slowly into a fraction of our being Everything straight, lies And therein lies The whole of man's plight
Crawling insects Gnawing on the insides of a branch Hollow Just to find the meaning In between the panels That enclose the earth Coating the sun With the slime of vanity By which our eyelids Are sewn together With threads of iron
We The ones who think in eternity We walk a straight line
Ours is a silence without excuse Without palliation
Where we walk, there are thorns Where we look, there are wallsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
