Between a face and a portrait, the real and the abstract
Between madness and lucidity
Between uniform and nudity
Between the end of the world and the end of the month
Between truth and English rock
Between the others and you
I feel like a foreigner
Passenger of some train
That doesn't pass here
That is just a illusion
Between dead and wounded, between cries and moans
The lie and the truth, the solitude and the city
Between a glass and another of the same drink
Among so many bodies with the same wound
I feel like a foreigner
Passenger of some train
That doesn't pass here
That is just a illusion
Between Americans and Soviets, Greeks and Trojans
Enter year and year out, always the same plans
Between my mouth and yours, there is so much time, there are so many plans
But I never know where we're going
I feel like a foreigner
Passenger of some train
That doesn't pass here
That is just a illusion