Tour Diary - Subterranean Masquerade

That look in your eyes

Says that there’s nothing left there at all

That sweet paradise

Now locked beyond doors

I’m losing control

Stare at the bottom of oblivion

I send greeting cards

Farewell to you all

(Time to move on)

Folded map in my pocket

Good smoke for the road

They call him the man who walks alone

I write what I see

I cease to succeed

To play my role in this board game

The quest to the unknown again

Kingdom of lies blinded by the false light of divinity

Sleeping so the head can escape the heart

Hiding like a rat in a sewer pipe

And with my last breath I hope I’ll find my way back home

To find my way back

Subtle wind dance over no man’s land

Whistling a quiet melody

Vultures cry in pleasure, solemn wish

To be the poor man’s king

I write what I see, inhaling it deep

I’m holding all back for this tour diary

And now I know, there’s nothing there for me

Now I know, there is nothing there