Skyclad - No Strings Attached | Текст песни

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• Skyclad
• No Strings Attached

Now the final curtain's fallen,
for no show goes on forever,
if the world's a stage – mine's empty.
whilst upon it you'll tread never.
As the instruments lie silent in their coffins made of wood,
i rest assured they'd say these words – If say these words they could;
Whatever happened to the songs – the music that we made,
and the joy we shared together as on me your fingers played?
Are chose symphonies forgotten – with our cases closed and latched'?
Dreams now dusty, old and rotten – empty shells (no strings attached).
Amidst the dying candle-light,
I sit forlorn, alone,
a space once filled with laughter bright,
the place my heart called home
Now the puppets are my company – but wood and straw can't speak;
though it by chance they came to life I'm certain they would weep;"
"What am I without your tender touch –
the hands to hold and guide me,
what purpose has a puppet with no puppeteer beside me?
I do not care I have no hair – my painted face is scratched.
but fear my wooden heart will shatter with no stings attached.

No mourners assemble in this white-elephant's graveyard,
a dearth of bloom upon my tomb – an absence of forget-me-nots.
For Romeo I understudied – this sepulchre dark and bloodied,
It's my final resting place – amongst these "cloak-and-dagger' props.
Your kiss turns princes into frogs – and passion-plays to monologues.

Now last and least– the minstrel-takes his bow upon the stage,
he's played a fool and played the prince – (but never acts his age).
And If for once not lost for words– l wonder what he d say,
to win fair maiden, slay the dragon, keep dread foe at bay?

"Though I am not a wealthy man – my heart is pure and true,
and the only riches that I have – the love I feel for you.
Now my life is robbed of meaning
Iike a purse of hope that's snatched.
Must I spend my whole time dreaming –
living life no strings attached?" CHORUS:
No mourners assemble in this white-elephant's graveyard,
a dearth of bloom upon my tomb – an absence of forget-me-nots.
For Romeo I understudied – this sepulchre dark and bloodied,
It's my final resting place – amongst these "cloak-and-dagger' props.
Your kiss turns princes into frogs – and passion-plays to monologues.

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