Miroirs, M. 43: I. Prélude à la nuit
de Pama dieng
Evening time, light fades down,
Above orange clouds, stars shine.
What magical ties will be made here tonight?
Dreams a new, coming true.
Shadows grow, and beer flows
In the summer's air, tempers flare.
Sirens wail, wailing souls fail to push against life's tide,
No escaping tonight.
We use so many words
They lose their meaning.
Think so many thoughts
Can't help dreaming... dreaming.
Once again, we begin,
Eyes shut tight chased by morning light.
What magical ties, will be made here tonight?
Dreams a new, coming true.
Coming true.
We use so many words
They lose their meaning... meaning.
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