歌词
Imagine the starry eyed audience chasing us through (the cold slop of) reality exhibited as mannequins (in a menage a trois), our design would be their wounds we would never follow the script, never pass them but a fake smile and every movement would be motley, dispelled from morals
And in the sky there would never be any trace of angels the virginal air would be vaguely transparent yet it would always be somewhat bright the wind would carry us (through enormous roars of enthusiastic applause) ye would herald the age of immorality, vividly, ye would bequeth me the most precious jewellery ye seem like such lovely girls, in a most sinful limbo of dreams; we should be an oblique part of the opaque scene...
And in the sky there would never be any trace of angels the virginal air would be vaguely transparent yet it would always be somewhat bright the wind would carry us (through enormous roars of enthusiastic applause)