She went no further into subtleties
of the pressing questions only asked:
“Where is the Money?
Is it gone?”
She stepped forward into the darkness.
There’s no conception of one’s own death,
but she saw no new people and places.
Only new events could keep alive in her
visions of the unexpected and of change.
He reached the door and opened it smoothy.
“What kinda thief would have found his way through
on a night like this?”, he said to himself.
She moved nearer to the fire, warming herself.
“Why do you think I was in the other place?”,
she said smiling and sipped her drink.
He turned his head with power and raised his pistol:
“You have to get in the car, sweetheart.”
“You don’t have to shoot,” she said.
He heard the rotors of a helicopter.
He swung his head around, oh man!
She yelled as the helicopter descended.
He was havin’ great feelings for her.
Misplaced lust came over her.
It was a Ghost town with black suits.
She opened the helicopter door.
The engine was loud, and he had doubts.
“The car is gone!”, she yelled,
“Get in here, come on, come on! Come on!”
He hauled himself through the door.
She watched him get up, gun in his hand.
“There is a time for anything – too many eerie lights”,
was a second’s thought back in her mind.
She believed he said a word,
but wasn’t sure.
She went no further into subtleties
of the pressing questions only said:
“Money is wanted, somethin’ will happen.”
They took off, decided on the target.
The Reich of fools, the American Führer.
It’s Shit Place, not just religion.
Truth or the Abyss’ is the code of the day.
Next time we do it, it’s for the Grace.
The engine was loud, and he had doubts.
“The car is gone!”, she yelled,
“Get in here, come on, come on! Come on!”
He hauled himself through the door.
“Why do you think I was in the other place?”,
she said smiling and sipped her drink.
He turned his head with power and raised his pistol:
“You have to get in the car, sweetheart.”
Lyrics & Music: Michel Montecrossa, © Mira Sound Germany