A cloud of dust is moving
Through the attic of your mind
Across the desert of the moon
What did you really hope to find?
You say: Mr. Jokerman tell me
Have you ever found
The way out of here - or have you
Just lost your sense of ground?
And a deathly silence
Screams through your ears
'cause you've been a slave to noise
For so many years
And you're lost among echoes
Of things not there
But you could swear there are waves
A salty breeze in the air
A shovel floats through space
Weightless
Last witness to your toil
From shoveling according to meaning
For you dug a crater
âit went deeper, bit by bit
But you quickly looked away
As the depths looked back
And a gray sponge
In your highest hall< br/>It's soaked and rotting away
Not a tear in the canal
But then: A washed-up noise
From the source directly into the ear
And deep under the mud
Familiar things grow so high up
An ocean's moss green heart
Is beginning to beat
Strange noises down the crater
Are calling from the deep
The blood's beginning to flow
There's a rush through your vein
It's shooting up your neck
And nothing seems the same

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