0:004:00
Text und Musik: Claas Ruths
Alle Instrumente: Claas Ruths
Vocals: Jamie Wiltshire
Alle Instrumente: Claas Ruths
Vocals: Jamie Wiltshire
The summer days are over / The northern winds are blowing slightly colder
Brown scarfs wrapped around white necks / Dark blue coats cover crooked backs
A fine rain is pouring down / And all your summer dreams are drowned
Each day in the same treadmill / Running up and down that same old hill
These days see a race – of a million lonely hearts without a face
The grey race is in a daze – heads down hasting to their fireplace
A race at steady pace – of dislocated lemmings stumble through their days
Here and there a spot of colour / It must be magic that I need to follow
Way to soon they disappear / Leaving me with all my fears
These days see a race – of a million lonely hearts without a face
The grey race is in a daze – heads down hasting to their fireplace
A race at steady pace – of dislocated lemmings stumble through their days
Grey sky is touching ground / Everybody‘s homeward bound
The wind is rushing hard / Slowly tearing us apart
These days see a race – of a million lonely hearts without a face
The grey race is in a daze – heads down hasting to their fireplace
A race at sready pace – of dislocated lemmings stumble through their days
Brown scarfs wrapped around white necks / Dark blue coats cover crooked backs
A fine rain is pouring down / And all your summer dreams are drowned
Each day in the same treadmill / Running up and down that same old hill
These days see a race – of a million lonely hearts without a face
The grey race is in a daze – heads down hasting to their fireplace
A race at steady pace – of dislocated lemmings stumble through their days
Here and there a spot of colour / It must be magic that I need to follow
Way to soon they disappear / Leaving me with all my fears
These days see a race – of a million lonely hearts without a face
The grey race is in a daze – heads down hasting to their fireplace
A race at steady pace – of dislocated lemmings stumble through their days
Grey sky is touching ground / Everybody‘s homeward bound
The wind is rushing hard / Slowly tearing us apart
These days see a race – of a million lonely hearts without a face
The grey race is in a daze – heads down hasting to their fireplace
A race at sready pace – of dislocated lemmings stumble through their days
