Aeon Spoke. Above the Buried Cry. Yellowman. Zeneszám

His eyes are closed his face pale asleep
on the ground a newspaper reads
the blood has spilled again
and you just dream my yellowman
yellowman
The angels burn a torch to keep us warm

His lungs are wide awake but he won't breathe
He spits out the ocean and we dream
like goldfish in a bowl
They think we're free
yellowman
You're tying rocks to clouds to stay above the crowds

The angels burn a torch to keep us warm

the blood has spilled again

and you just dream
yellowman
You never see the bloodstains on the battlefield
The angels burn a torch to keep us warm