| I am the hot mic, I pick up asides, of the modern tyrant
|
| «…laws of the shadows, colours of justice»,
|
| I don’t know what it meant
|
| How patriotism is now enough and it’s powerful stuff
|
| Can we get it quiet enough? |
| In here,
|
| I can hear god, the cat’s paws cross the keys,
|
| Or the wish tomorrow is,
|
| but a whisper from your lips and I fall to my knees
|
| I am the hot mic, the war room is dead, janitors move in
|
| Talking of their dark doors, their enchanted paths,
|
| I don’t know what they meant
|
| How with something to fall back on, yea, people usually do
|
| Hit the lights! |
| Kill the room!
|
| Can we get it quiet enough? |
| In here,
|
| I can hear god, cat paws along the keys,
|
| And the wish tomorrow is,
|
| but a whisper from your lips and I fall to my knees.
|
| I’m not afraid of convincingness,
|
| m just uncertain for sure
|
| I’m in awe of no one, I’m made for this,
|
| teach me what to want.
|
| I am the hot mic, I pick up asides of Dawn, The Tyrant
|
| He’s coming from the shadows, feeling being seen,
|
| I don’t know what he meant
|
| I don’t guess, I listen. |
| It’s more than enough.
|
| It’s powerful stuff
|
| Can we get it quiet enough in here?
|
| So I can hear god — a cat walk cross the keys
|
| And hit notes so lonely it’s one whisper from your lips and I fall to my knees
|
| I’m not afraid of convincingness,
|
| I’m just uncertain for sure
|
| I’m in awe of no one, I’m made for this,
|
| teach me what to want.
|
| And though I’m not yet earnest enough,
|
| not unblinkingly sincere
|
| I’m over here
|
| I overhear you
|
| And I always hear you |