Population - Blood & Ochre | Текст песни

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• Population
• Blood & Ochre

Sunny days, go away –
the rain will hide this sullen face;
don’t blame it all on me
if you’re feeling cold.
The pensive mind, preoccupied,
giving up on looking for the gold in mines –
too many times, I’ve played the roles.
They hate our kind, the losing tribe –
hidden messages are playing on the radio.
The reasons that I walked on by –
for too many ages, now, we haven’t had nowhere to go.
They hate our kind, we don’t have time;
turning over cheeks and waiting for the wind to blow.
The lost tribe, distraught kinds…
The memories, in diaries –
black ribbons, tucked beneath the bed;
I remember one bright moment, it went dead –
now that age has seized me.
The agonies, frivolities, casting off hate – let it die alone.
I’m trying hard these days at blending in.
They hate our kind, the losing tribe –
hidden messages are playing on the radio.
The reasons that I walked on by –
for too many ages, now, we haven’t had nowhere to go.
They hate our kind, we don’t have time;
turning over cheeks and waiting for the wind to blow.
The lost tribe, distraught kinds…
This time, the moment will pass.
They hate our kind, the losing tribe –
hidden messages are playing on the radio.
The reasons that I walked on by –
for too many ages, now, we haven’t had nowhere to go.
They hate our kind, we don’t have time;
turning over cheeks and waiting for the wind to blow.
The lost tribe, distraught kinds…
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