The ones
They hold each others hands, and walk without a sound down forgotten streets. Their shadows kiss the ground, while their footsteps sing a song that's ended before it's begun. They walk without a sound.
Just like the tiptoe moth that dances before the flame, they burn their hearts so much that death is just a name- and if love calls again, so foolishly they run, they run, they run, they run, they run, they run, they run, they run without a sound.
I know the road they're on. I've walked their crooked mile a hundred times or more, and I've drank their cup of bile. They watch their dreams go down behind the setting sun.
Let he who threw the stone at them stand up and take a bow. He knows the verb "to love," but he'll never, never, never know how.
On the bridge of nevermore they disappear one by one, without a sound. And underneath the bridge, the water's sweet and deep- this is their journey's end: the land of endless sleep.
They cry to us for help
We think it's all in fun,
They cry, they cry, they cry, they cry
Without a sound
They disappear
Without a sound
They walk
Without a sound
Without a sound
Disappear
Without a sound
Cry
Without a sound
The desperate ones