Fantasy for the devil, it's what we do, redbrick shoes high in heaven, evil and good been the same ever
Such a lunar set of worries, taste of prejury in the child that hurries, never to find the truth alone
And Jesus smashed an egg, when he could have smashed the hen
We run against time, fantastic set of worries and words are never gone
Blueberries have grown up and they have been also smashed and gone, we still cherish the game of hidding games
How did you run your fantasy attached to my own? Are you the wind and me a tulip only?
Oh, never judge the shoe in its foot, nor the face of a woman, when winter is to come, that is what time and death do
Right against your truth, there is certainty too, but yes, that's what time and love do
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