Every time itís going to be different,
it isnít is it?
Every time itís going to change,
it just ends up staying the same doesnít it?
Am I the only one to find this movement strange,
maybe itís all inside my brain
chemical imbalance sent it all deranged,
and so time follows with itís rage,
pent up show on stage,
exhibition kept in a small brown cage,
squeezing breathing in tight,
on the side laid against the wall
to make it through the barbed wired wall,
scratched and maimed
just to say ďthis is my life, come feel my painĒ
after you hear it, you wonít remain,
thatís even if you stay to hear it all,
see how the angel can free fall,
fallen angel raped and mauled
while on its descend to the green floor,
love shattering at a time when itís mattering,
there canít be much more.
Reminiscing on timeís these wings would soar,
twist and turn aní all,
dazzling display extravagantly displayed,
now only a little spark may make it this way,
the floor findís itís way,
pushing the force back all the way
when it passes need glasses to replace
the vision which shattered, are we alive?
Did it happen?
Itíll be different next time,
nothing will dampen,
itíll be different next time,
someone will turn the lamp on,
itíll be different next time we will be the champion.
Every time itís going to be different isnít it?
Is it just a disgrace to hope itís the murder time wrote.