The oil wells up from the depths
The ambulance runs down and kills me
The storm is dying down
The Creator is nodding idly
A one-armed bandit* is posing in the light
A star is shining in the dark
I don't know where to go
What is my role in the whole
In front of a sniper
And with our back to the universe
We're sitting in a postcard
With instant palm-trees
I give my best regards
From this pleasant place
I'd drink somebody's health
But the table is falling down underneath me
Some people with money, some with prayer
Some people with drugs, some with booze
Some people slowly, some in a busy way
Some people in a simply way like in the tales
Some people in a driven way, some by oneself
Some people run from the noise of life
There're so many ways to
Catch up what I'm chasing
The door is opened
The alarm-clock is buzzing
The instinct keeps kicking me
The enter is flickering