Tekst
Keep your eye on the ball. Nice level swing.
Keep your feet on the ground, nevermind that sound and ignore that sting.
From here I will disappear. I won't fail.
To a man with only a hammer every problem looks like a nail.
This ghost town is nothing but hollow.
The callow are trained to carry and follow.
Bitter and fallow, empty if not shallow.
No such thing as tomorrow.
From here I will disappear. I won't fail.
To a man with only a hammer every problem looks like a nail.
From here my wearying ghost will be carried
and here the last traces of sunlight are buried.
Where is the sun? Where is everyone?
