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The lion's pit
Is still reality
Getting out of it is impossible for us
It's a false slogan
Our dear angel
Feeds himself of roots and then
He sleeps in the bushes under the trees
But he'll never be a slave
Mirrors for larks
uselessly on the ground they shine
Like prostitutes that sell at night
A gay basket of love, which is never love
Fear and alienation
And it's not what you say
The lines have too many centuries now
You can't mask them under make up anymore
Our dear angel
He's young, you know
The networks don't allow him to fly
But he never gives up
And cathedrals darken
The white wings don't seem white anymore
But our aspirations filter the dark
Shining they point at him the blu
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