One more time you find yourself huddled in silence.
|
Nicotine mingles with a mimic's tear, tarnishing moments forlon...
|
Remember the stages that you were compelled to wander
|
Where ideas were devised, where the phantom of fame
|
approached like a brief encounter.
|
Try to evoke the day...
|
But memories are cold comfort for the mourning result of a long-forgotten cause.
|
|
Passionless words defy the stage no more
|
There's no applause, just a drunkard asking for encore
|
A silent audience of dust and desperation
|
As you remember certain faces that once engaged these empty places.
|
|
With the fading light came desperate thoughts, as if
|
the ghost of an urge rode a blatant breeze.
|
And the wet ink on the paper blurred under your tears,
|
just like water's clearness in the rush of the spray...
|
Try to escape the day...
|
And after all you will find out that it's all the same
|
how many footprints you've left in the soil.
|
|
Empty eyes defy these empty halls
|
Empty faces examine empty walls
|
Empty words thrown in empty streams
|
Empty places are the end of empty dreams.
|
|
To be a whisper on the breeze, to be a stranger on violent seas,
|
To see the world through orphaned eyes could be a mission
|
Behind tangerine skies.
|
For there's no importance in a dream of posthume fame
|
And I don't want to be a fugitive repatriated, watching
|
these empty places...
|
|
-----------------
|
These Empty Places
|
Sieges Even |