The Last Show

You can feel the dust in your throat
Some minutes have the taste of a century
Like a clock without a lance
Like a zombie, sleep walker without a goal

Our life is running so fast
And we are all yearning for more
To go back, looking into your past
Without pain and your mental sore

Clock without lances
minutes that come
Escaping from your last show
But time is not so slow

Kill your every shade. Kill your thoughts and your fate
Try to escape. try to stop your hate
Is not clear. The object of your fear
Something cold. Something feeding your soul.

The one day begin to open your mind
No more time. The countdown is looking so slow
For the end that's an offense
But it won't keep you long from the last show

Clock without lances
minutes that come
Escaping from your last show
But time is not so slow