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Cliche
This is waterfall of human tales.
Just a piece of good luck,
is all that we claim.
But I'm told by a friend,
it's imore than sure.
Just as clear as the sky,
there is no fortune for all.
And this is nobody's fault,
and this is nobody's share.
And I Say:
Somebody's soaked,
somebody's cliché.
Am I caught in the storm.
The sleeping creature.
For I beg high and hope,
For I beg high and hold.
Till I fall in the storm.
I did not reach it
I did not reach it
This is whore that prays in church,
torn her soul.
This is countess on the ball,
but the title is stolen.
This is a cripple from the war,
the guy you know.
But the answer's in the end,
something cannot be changed.
And this is nobody's fault,
and this is nobody's share.
And I Say:
Somebody's soaked,
somebody's cliché.
Am I caught in the storm.
The sleeping creature.
For I beg high and hope,
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for I beg high and hold.
Till I fall in the storm.
I did not reach it,
I did not reach it.
Somebody's soaked
somebody's cliché
Am I caught in the storm
The sleeping creature
For I beg high and hope
for I beg high and hold
Till I fall in the storm
The storm of cliché
Somebody, everybody.
High or low, or hiding.
Nobody's born as a creature.
You better be,
not mad at me,
'cause body falls,
vanishes souls.
Me better fear,
nobody's born as a creature.
Nobody's creature,
and nobody fears.
Somebody's soaked,
somebody's cliché.
Am I caught in the storm.
The sleeping creature.
For I beg high and hope,
for I beg high and hold.
Till I fall in the storm.
I did not reach it,
I did not reach it.
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