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Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies - The Elephant At The Door (The American Metaphysical Circus) | Текст песни

He's forgotten all the changes
But he still can sing along
The porpoise close behind you
keeps the time
And there's something sucking
at the corners of your brain
But the operator won't
give back your dime

Your private ghosts surround your bed
to whisper in the night
And drain the marrow from your bones
The spirit from your eyes
And sleep will come in different colors
clearer than you've ever seen before

In the dying sun
All your fires have turned to ashes
As your last illusion passes on
Bitter is the wine
Fear in summer, fear in winter
Tears turn the waters into brine

Through deserted shrines
to the vineyard path you wander
And your grapes are rotten on the vine

Muffled are the drums,
Trophies tarnished
Laurels shabby
What you hate is
what you have become

While seventeen realities
give flavor to your fare
You can't recall their names
No one stops to give instruction,
To tell you when and where and who
And you can't remember
how to play the game

The things that sit and wait for you
To stumble in the dark
Will take the cobwebs from your eyes
And place them in your heart
And sleep will come in different colors
clearer than you've ever seen before

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