Hands tied we're ready to, ready to force hands-off we're ready for, ready for more hands tied we're ready to force our f**ing -selves once more to become quite every sh** we're feeling sorry for. at least in this scene all different ideals correspond to settle down and take their seats to petrify paralysed as one as one silent attender. thousands of reflections make it so easy for you to surrender. numbness' footprints are even too big to be filled as you realise this voice unknow still somehow leaves you thrilled telling you: "the trend's set, you're free to call it yours" hands tied ready to force - ourselves hands tied ready for more an*lysis, paralysis - breaking, rebuilding, over and over again as smaller parts get lost in this process of making believe that you still got in hands what's already
gone, that you still feel all the things turned already numb. hands tied we're ready to, ready to force hands-off we're ready for, ready for more hands tied we're ready to force ourselves feel free to call it yours: your child - still bearing all it's dignity your mother - able to give birth to you so desperately and perform your abortion at the same time. your father - releasing a pulse and leaving you and everything behind. my fingers went through hard times as servants for a fake solution. it took 'em years to convince the rest, that the act of watching has never been the problem, it always went way beyond this way beyond a shallow rendez vous - shallow but colourful eyes up the pylon, with every second flags are waving more and more in shiny red, yellow and blue