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Hors la vie

de L'Or du Commun

Rain of the people's falling down from the sky
Rolling from the roof, I can't sleep tonight
Humans on plane are buying coffee with laugh
They don't know pilot's gone and he won't come back
Clown on the street stands trying to smile
Thinking 'bout his home, where stands an empty bath
Let it be empty and stand in that home, because
Baths are made for standing alone

Blade in the sandbox's lying, covered with the sand
Soaking up the sniff of children's hands
Owner of roast he's young, he likes when it's cold
Warmer places reminds him one day he'll be old
Clown on the street stands, thinking 'bout his bath
Master of forgiveness, master of the crime
Respect our baths for all they could be
Because they see the things, that they don't want to see

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