it's the knowledge that seperates,
it's the ideals that devide.
but what if it's only ourselves
getting burnt by our fire inside?
when dreams become a noise in the background,
in the backyard of all the monstrous jails scraping the sky,
covered by bright lights and glamorous banners,
it'll be hard to keep on track, it'll be hard to keep in touch
and to keep in mind, who banned us from ourselves.
once we fully accepted our convenience as a fucking statement,
once we can't stop the beat of growing fences
around our very kingdom - both our mekka and our grave,
once communication completely lost its wings on the battlefield of silence
let's be prepared.
let's be prepared.
kept in stock, filed and destined,
we'll be waiting for each our moment,
to finally become one of the wastable wires,
to know, that there's still so much
- so much legwork to be done -
to feel, that there are still so many
- so many decisions to be made -
seeing, that it's still such little change that has happened,
gets and keeps me on my way.
heading for a new kind of dawn.
a new kind of everything.
