With a small consent
Idle all broken in
The tyre tracks have left strings
Notice you
breath in space
calling of age
with this strange aftertaste
a strange aftertaste in the mouth
And there is this strange aftertaste
and for good (...)
you capture (...) better straw
with camels black braids
cause its so seductive now
to lose yourself somehow
left a strange aftertaste
a strange aftertaste
I don't feel so fine
I don't know things sometime
I see clearer sometimes
In the morning sometimes
in the moor, in the moor, in the moor
I don't see sometimes
I don't know this sometimes
The beautiful
the beautiful.

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