Melodic stanzas
are symphonizing their way
through your weary head
To feed your distrust
And fill it's mouth with the desire
to soulfully be one with your creation
Not a subject to control
you call upon a higer power
for help and inspiration
The crowd waits
and turns their faces
towards you expectantly
you give them what they need
But their useless criticism
makes you die
a bit more inside
Not a subject to control
you call upon a higer power
for help and inspiration
Oh, I swoon
while loudspeakers play soft music
Leaning
over your fourtieth masterpiece
You must have loved
the colour of these violins
I wish I knew you
Your fit of insanity makes me sad
I wish you knew
