The Great Conversation

Guten abend, hier Beethoven
With these words I've interwoven inspiration from Moonlight
Since you parted much has changed but your melodies remain
Like flamingos in full flight
Please forgive me and be assured I'm only using all your chords
To illustrate that nothing's ever new
And it seems these days there's little left that people have to say
As they pay for emperors new clothes

Verse 2:
But I refuse to take my hat to an era near extinction
Without question or complaint
The dialogue is growing weak, some forgetting how to speak,
Or stand up and show restraint
They're all sick with common sense
Riddled thick with complacence
Where there's nothing left to push against
So, dear Ludwig, that is why I choose the great gig in the sky
Where there are greater minds beyond mine

Chorus:
And I'll meet they them all
Yes, I'll meet you all
In the great conversation
Without time, without reason I'll meet you all
Yes, I'll meet you all In the great conversation
Where time has no place, no, no

Verse 3:
Is it me, or has humanity turned slave to the convenience
Of this, so called, 'Techno Age'?
I speak to you, Ludwig, because you represent a time so opposite,
When music filled the page
For example: this song here may be too much to please the ear
Because it's wordy and demonstrative,
But my might is not to entertain the plight of human thought,
Though some may think I ought to

Chorus

Bridge:
Dare I say, (as a landscape fades to grey) that a sword of Damocles hangs heavy overhead
Of all our voices great.

Chorus

Похожие новости.

Лабиринт

Где-то одна... И тишина ... Ночью заснуть этой я не смогла, не сумела. Снова лечу и не нахожу места себе я в этом мире. Ты слово «где?» Ищешь в толпе,

We Were Born To Fly

Hello again You've been alone awhile And I can use a friend Your shades are down And I've been waiting here for you to come around And it's not about forgiveness Cause it's all about the

Хочу Тебе

I Зовсім голі стіни і таке пусте повітря, Я рахую до п’яти в крові гарячих літрів. Мене лякає мертвий спокій і щось таке не хитре, Що було а потім кудись раптово зникло. Може випити текіли

Москвичка

1. Неровность вычурная крыш течет за горизонт. Семнадцатый квартал. Париж. Чуть вздрагивает зонт. И женщина французская, серьезна и мила, Спешит сквозь утро тусклое, должно быть проспала. И тем, кто встретится с ней улочкою узкою, Не

Чёрный Маг

Он с детства был слаб, он познал унижения. Изгой в этом мире искал силы суть, И в книгах волшебных, найдя утешение, Ступил на извилистый магии путь. Он не просил, не просил помочь - Он видел