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Yeah yeah
One two three four
When all the clowns
have left their jobs
the birds whistle in the trees,
there's no point in being free anymore
Until I know this night will kill me
Oh-oh ooh yeah
If I don't come with you
Clubland
People say it's all for the art
Nothing for the fame
But you look like dolls in scenery
ÃÂ˅h, how I miss Ernst-Hugo...
for pathos is art
and art is to understand
It has become hard to love,
when all love has led to disappointment
And compadres
Living on the edge of annihilation
And compadres, you thought you could fail love
Oh-oh ooh yeah
But you can't
I know you're sad
I'm sorry too
For all that's left is a dream of what love could be
I'll never read Proust again
For the end hurts too much in me
The end has just begun between you and me