Bake this soul, 

Bake this soul to the point, 

You can’t listen to the songs of the dead trees, 

you can’t keep wandering on disappeared roads, 

You can’t bother an empty cup in hand and cigarettes burning through your blood. 

They will put you inside a colossal circle and shoot your poignant indignation. 

Don’t give in to this mockery, 

Don’t give in

Don’t give in 

A drunk babe with rain in their eyes and stars in their hand, 

Would take your soul…

Give it to her 

Give it to her…

She will take it, she will feed the comets with it…she will blow this out of a bubble in times of empty beer bottles and sex with the lights on. 

But keep an eye on it…

Your soul is your rocket…

Keep an eye on it…

There’s always a road going for trees…there’s always this hat store;waiting for you to give you the brown hat…just a fair of unattainable esoteric feathers. 

So, keep an eye on it.