Someone here clenched his fist in anger against the machine,
Someone drinking blood with milk in wind-up orange,
And someone stood on the edge above abyss in the rye,
But above the cuckoo nest into a mirage away he flies.
And others tiny-tiny parts of different mozaic,
That were gathered by poet, artist, musician and prosaist,
Through the door of our feelings, through the network of nervous systems,
Penetrated into the brain, mixing up fiction with reality
In our head.
[Chorus:]
Brush stroke on the canvas is in the head,
The text on the sheet is in the head,
Sounds, words are in the head,
Sense of magic is in the head.
The general waits for someone in his maze,
Someone through the window in the window dirty bandage sees,
And someone for half a century together with Gump looking for Jane,
But finding Tailor in Jack insomnia again.
All the new-new different people of the world of art,
Shifting the assembly point in us, traumatizing feelings,
Through the doors of perception, that were open from inside,
Penetrating into the brain, giving birth of new universes
In our head.
[Chorus:]
Brush stroke on the canvas is in the head,
The text on the sheet is in the head,
Sounds, words are in the head,
Sense of magic is in the head.
I close my eyes, so I can see better.
[Chorus:]
Brush stroke on the canvas is in the head,
The text on the sheet is in the head,
Sounds, words are in the head,
Sense of magic is in the head.
Sense of magic...