We're like tiny trembling birds, um..
We're like candles in the wind,
We are having wondrous night dream,
By the dawn it'll disappear.
Stand in line, break up the windows,
Let all be without a cause,
It is what it is but what'll be,
My Lord, let no one discern.
There's no sleeping nor awakening -
Only rustling's everywhere,
Just the touch is burning, stinging -
Of pale fingers, nervous hands.
Beat the drum, keep ripping strings up,
Do the jumps, my little clown,
Precious snake is hardly breathing,
Breathing like vein in your heart.
Beat the drum, keep ripping strings up,
Play the music thundering,
And all those, who heard these songs, are
Soaring high on angels' wings.
We're like tiny trembling birds, um..
We're like candles in the wind,
We are having wondrous night dream,
By the dawn it'll disappear.
There's no sleeping nor awakening -
Only rustling's everywhere,
Just the touch is burning, stinging -
Of pale fingers, nervous hands.