I've got no interest
In any theory
In any fantasy
Nor in what's beyond
Nor in face painting
Whees and yays, or melodies
To match my yawning
Morning dreams
I've got no interest
In any theory
Nor in those things from the east
Astral romances
My hallucination
Is to bear the daily life
And my frenzy
Is the experience
With what's real
A black person, a poor person
A student
A woman on its own
Blue jeans and motorbikes
Gloomy regular people
Girls kept by the night
Revolver: Sniff it, your bitch!
The miserable park dwellers
With their newspapers
Sheeps, table, work
My body falling from the eighth floor
And the loneliness of people
From those capital cities
The aggressiveness of the night
The traffic movement
A sensitive joyous young man
Dancing and shaking his body
Is too much!
Blackheads, pimps on the face
Rock music, Hot Dog
"Play it cool, Baby"
Twelve colorful youngsters
Two police officers
Fulfilling their cruel duty
And defending their love
And our life
Fulfilling their cruel duty
And defending their love
And our life
But I've got no interest
In any theory
In any fantasy
Nor in what's beyond
Let alone the prophet of terror
Announced by the Clockwork Orange
Loving and changing things
Interests me more
Loving and changing things
Loving and changing things
Interests me more
A black person, a poor person
A student
A woman on its own
Blue jeans and motorbikes
Gloomy regular people
Girls kept by the night
Revolver: Sniff it, your bitch!
The miserable park dwellers
With their newspapers
Sheeps, table, work
My body falling from the eighth floor
And the loneliness of people
From those capital cities
The aggressiveness of the night
The traffic movement
A sensitive joyous young man
Dancing and shaking his body
Is too much!
Blackheads, pimps on the face
Rock music, Hot Dog
"Play it cool, Baby"
Twelve colorful youngsters
Two police officers
Fulfilling their cruel duty
And defending their love
And our life
Fullfilling their cruel duty
And defending their love
And our life