Tour Diary

That look in your eyes
Says that there's nothing left there at all
That sweet paradise
Now locked beyond doors.

I'm losing control
Stare at the bottom of oblivion
I send greeting cards
Farewell to you all
(Time to move on)

Folded map in my pocket
Good smoke for the road
They call him the man who walks alone
I write what I see
I cease to succeed
To play my role in this board game
The quest to the unknown again
Kingdom of lies blinded by the false light of divinity.

Sleeping so the head can escape the heart
Hiding like a rat in a sewer pipe
And with my last breath I hope I'll find my way back home
To find my way back.

Subtle wind dance over no man's land
Whistling a quiet melody
Vultures cry in pleasure, solemn wish
To be the poor man's king
I write what I see, inhaling it deep
I'm holding all back for this tour diary
And now I know, there's nothing there for me
Now I know, there is nothing there.