It’s difficult to raise the dead.
It’s difficult to kill a vision.
The harmony of your life is drawn on a line
and you say the shit is fine.
You’re looking for an angel mind,
this mind that will set you free.
But the dark is in your life.
You can’t stand on the line.
And you say it’s maybe time to die.
You’re running in the streets again,
to a place where Time stands still.
Your car is just your life,
You’re falling from the line
And your face is shining bright.
Elias Pentikis, © 2001