They'll write of pictures
realize not they
were made from words.
It's all chains and the same
in the infernal machine
without Alice, the creative spark
we'd drown in alcohol,
to keep it spotless, when the stains
are on our conscience.
They'll write of movies
realize not they
were made from pictures.
That's the debauch of society,
playing games for reality,
forcing others into the chains
it is only for an excuse,
always the same story never told,
soulless creatures shinin'
They'll write of musics
realize not they
were the artists writ for.
But are only repeating programs
pretending to be human
while singing into the choir
Ah, Alice, if not for you
this would be endless rows
of parcelhouses.
They'll write of words
realize not they
were writing about them. |