Men with both roots and wings they tie us down and ask us to leave they are teachings unheard, they are bodies on smoke
Men with both roots and wings at a singular voice we moan our teachings mislead, our teachings like smoke
we sleep between the storm that was and the storm which has to come
We've learnt to learn everywhere and the very own nature has taught us to wait difference does sound like sin, equality reliefs and that fame rhymes with hate yet everything is fair on the intervals of your death
misguided demons or forthcoming heroes each one with an important name nothing else than an important name.
Men with both roots and wings at a certain time we are one our little tricks, our innocence stubborn
Men with just little wings, men with just little minds Men with just little eyes, men with just little deeds
sleeping between the storm that was and the wind which fails to come (and finally) blow us away.
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