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