The Falling Leaves

You always keep me guessing
And you keep me on the run
And you go on judging water
By the color of the glass

It just seems that all the blackness
Of your hair comes from your heart

Now your hair is silver-red
And my glass is awfully green
I don’t know what you make out of this
I make a bed of stone

I cannot live under this
This blanket is too thick

And if I cannot sleep
Just a little bit
I don’t know what will happen
But it will happen way too quick

It’s time we take Manhattan
It is time we take Berlin
It’s also time to tell the living
That Tuesday is dead

I told the mirror yesterday
That you have grown bald
I could not make up a better lie
In lack of a soul
And dancing with a spider’s leg
That I found lying on my desk
I realize that you all know you know me like you do