This is shadow theatre and less about what is real
Through games and magazines, all in their process colour
On canvas walls that leaked when touched
I was the summer flower, fragrant like fire
We all have silver dreams but their is no jacob’s ladder
Climbing our own tree, grasping at branches that matter
And when I find myself there, most of the feeling was gone
And when I finally got there, most of the feeling was gone
Most of the feeling
So let’s play shadow theatre and forget about what is real
Through lines in their magazines, all dressed in their nice bright colours
On velvet walls that speak when touched
I am the autumn flower that does not see it’s winter
And when I find myself there, most of the feeling was gone
And when I finally got there, most of the feeling was gone
Most of the feeling
