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Quaoar
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The Man Drained of All
Come to see now. This old criature's revealed.
His time, his hands and heart,
all his talents wasted.
He fell asleep under the rain,
Now he calls for someone. Still. In vain.
And nothing seems to get him troubled
except the warble of the wild birds.
Shed tears for the wings of the man drained of all.
And along his crying,
like a mantra prayer,
He tells no one 'she was all mine'
Like a mantra prayer
He tells no one 'she was all mine'
Calm down now.
They're still looking…
Just hold your head up high again,
hold your horses, don't see red…
They're all reflections of my loneliness. And the truth is so clear. And the truth is so near.
They look for me on TV soaps and books, but when they find me for real, they only feel fear
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that's sometimes simply dressed as disbelief. So many struggles in their minds…
They've lost their aim and all the sense of what is wrong and what is right.
Growing deep inside of them a long-unnoticed shadow
that leads them to The Gloom and fills them with an unnamed loss.
These are the tears of the man drained of all,
of a green loner wooer, Who cries for me?
God curse you all.
I gave you forests for you to fathom all the power that you have indeed.
Gave you graces to create beauty.
I gave you love for you to fall on your knees.
Gave you forests and you chopped them down
and with my graces you made a deal.
I gave you love and you made an orgy
and wryly that made you fall on your knees too.
May your god curse you all.
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