MOVING TRUCK

build a house the size of your hate

bring your tired bones on a crate

paint the windows black

and serve your heart on a plate

wait for the moon to change shape

record your sadness in old tapes

those days won´t be back

when life was sweet as grapes

the magic of the future is that there is no magic at all

future is only we today making shadows in the wall

count hours in sixteen clocks

but don´t hope to hear the morning cock

it has gone with yesterday

to crow in another sad block

see the season undress the trees

and the cold air hardening your knees

there are no more games to play

just one called love me please...

the magic of the future is that there is no magic at all

future is only we today making shadows in the wall