Hans York
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(Hans York/Tom Armstrong)

An empty tin for gasoline

Makes a desperate sound when it's struck

In the thoughts of a child in these decaying streets

In the swirling of the dust

The boy ignores it all and plays

With a branch on the rusty metal

Dust resting itself on his shoulders and shoes

When in truth it will never settle

She lifted her heart above all other things

Destroyed all her lovers with trust

In shanties where thoughts caught the wind in the heat

With the desperate discomfort of lust

She tried to reverse the decay of the world

Pulling back on its rusty metal

Dust resting itself on her shoulders and shoes

When in truth it would never settle

I've given up trying to sleep

It seems they'll never switch the light off that sign

The buildings, they ache and moan with the heat

The drunks blend their sorrows with wine

This city's a filter for genius

I've seen the rest of us keep passing through

May you cast off the burden of destiny, love

May its weight never settle on you

May you cast off the burden of destiny, love

May its weight never settle on you


Mirror lyrics:

May its weight never settle on you

May you cast off the burden of destiny, love

May its weight never settle on you

May you cast off the burden of destiny, love

I've seen the rest of us keep passing through

This city's a filter for genius

The drunks blend their sorrows with wine

The buildings, they ache and moan with the heat

It seems they'll never switch the light off that sign

I've given up trying to sleep

When in truth it would never settle

Dust resting itself on her shoulders and shoes

Pulling back on its rusty metal

She tried to reverse the decay of the world

With the desperate discomfort of lust

In shanties where thoughts caught the wind in the heat

Destroyed all her lovers with trust

She lifted her heart above all other things

When in truth it will never settle

Dust resting itself on his shoulders and shoes

With a branch on the rusty metal

The boy ignores it all and plays

In the swirling of the dust

In the thoughts of a child in these decaying streets

Makes a desperate sound when it's struck

An empty tin for gasoline

(Hans York/Tom Armstrong)


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