Lyric

Sunsets that turn yellow

Among clouds of paper

Effects already in the suitcase

Waiting for departure

Hope is a blank canvas

Is life in perspective

Is the wait for color

Is creative dystonia

Images that the public

Persists in not understanding

But I, the critic

But I have to say it

Mmmhhhh

It's the carousel of life's things

That drags on chaotically and falsely

Beautiful conversation with no exit

On the road that leads to nothing

A banally empty exercise

Words that the voice can't say

That steals at random from an unknown concept

And lies, knowing full well it's lying

Wandering through the streets

Of a dying city

Made of dark houses

Of rain and out lights

Apocalyptic omen

Disaster and earthquake

Unbearable vision

Torment vacuum-packed

They sense the anguish

Thinking they can sense

But I'm the critic

And so I say again

Yeaaaah

It's the carousel of life's things

That drags on chaotically and fake

A beautiful conversation with no exit

On the road that leads to nothing

A banally empty exercise

Words the voice can't say

That steals at random from an unknown concept

And lies, knowing full well it's lying

Sunsets that turn yellow

Among clouds of paper

Effects already in the suitcase

Waiting for departure

Hope is a blank canvas

Is life in perspective

Is waiting for color

Is creative dystonia

Wandering through the streets

Of a dying city

Made of dark houses

Of rain and out lights

Apocalyptic omen

Disaster and earthquake

Unbearable vision

Torment vacuum-packed

They sense the anguish

Thinking they can sense

But I'm the critic

And so I say again

Yeaaaah

It's the carousel of life's things (Of life)

That drags on chaotically and falsely

A beautiful conversation with no exit (No exit)

On the road that leads to nothing

A banally empty exercise

Words the voice can't say

That steals at random from an unknown concept

And lies, knowing full well it's lying