The sky is full of violins
The red horizon bursts at the seams
No-ones able to play them well
The red horizon and a smoky smell

The town is burning down again and again
The civil law flees in his van
The laughter dies away mouthlock, heartburn
Dreams of survival, a matter of civil concern

Illegal operations, narrow rubberbands
A burning light through a heating lens
The scalpel is blunt, the doctor's infected
The visible muscle is addictive, injected

The town went to ruins, only the numbers survived
The fascist numbers are marching in lines
They're brainwash-taped at the gene-factory
A heap of rubble is all what I see

A catastrophe
A catastrophe

Perhaps we all will die, perhaps we all will fly
in another dream, to another town
where pink briefs are gleaming in the sky
in a town with one last public problem
Why should I fill out this taxform, why?

Text & Musik: Markus Maria Jansen & Mike Pelzer
© Edition FUEGO

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