There's Arnold With his back to me Wandering down through an ill-lit street I'm curious And would like to entreat Is it inspiration or self-defeat
And from the corner his figure fades And should I follow or retrograde
There's Anton With a furrowed brow A crooked finger and non-plussed scowl There's symmetry He will soon endow Crafting tone rows with his head faced down
If I seek pleasure in melody Have I betrayed best tendencies
Oh Alban We part our hair the same Posing next to a drawer and frame At 23 and two years of age Your work is tasteful your life's urbane
As for the despot's who bring you down A century later they're still around
And so I sit by the window sill Feeling sad, the questions linger still I'm trying to decide if it's fake or real
I'm all alone In a noisy throng Nameless and ageless, all strung along Nobody else can name this song Mispronunciations and words spelled wrong
At times like these I think I'm on my own A new self-portrait of my ownTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
