Travel

Melodic stanzas are symphonizing their way through your weary head To feed your distrust And fill its 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 your music was to stay forever And I hope.... I have no clue if you know how much it matters And I hope....