Feeling that wind, though it's not natural.
It's just too hard always having to fix it all.
Facing the cold, it doesn't feel like something new:
my wings keep busy, and I find no angel.
And I ask why should I catch the sky?
The chances are right here at my side...
The city lights have filled my eyes
as if they're maps, signs of so many lives.
And through it all I go my way.
And after all I'm still awake,
as sharp as a shy guy like me can be.
I just feel it now,
I found many ways how,
that wind I wouldn't know
(supposedly wouldn't know),
yes, I can make it blow.
All my shots don't aim to any paradise.
I'm sick and tired of these deified lies,
heaven is a pill, a placebo I don't want to buy
to calm down this world made of goodbyes.
So I ask why to pray to sky?
I guess my cry don't get so high...
Why don't to try the ears beside?
Imagine if a shy guy like me can hear?
What I want to meet
is walking down the street,
not flying in the air.
That boy with curly hair,
he is not a cherub.
In streets there're no promises,
in streets there are chances.
My next step will lead me to no heaven
and I don't care, I think it's better.