The
crooks are counting
Looking
into the mirrors of their lives
When
will the blues gang arrive?
Put
them in guitar strings
Let
them jump on stage?
They
start to wonder
Every
time staring at the clocks
The
nights are full of dreams
Running
in grilled gates
Hearing
the voices of the past
The
ghosts of themselves
Drifting
into the fire...
Yet
it is the waiting
The
weaving of their minds
The
heat of the sun rays
Putting
them in worried faces
They
can't stand the heat
They
are used to giving commands
Now
they watch the mirrors
When
will the blues gang arrive?
Put
them in guitar strings
Let
them jump on stage?
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