Sangtekst: Peter Murphy. Tale of the Tongue.

The time is coming ripe
We are running fast
I see you coming closer
Closer to the mask

Come closer treat me softly
Where can the dreamer be?
How far we've come to know
How much we've come to see

And when I ask you softly
Oh what the real man saw
As I hit the roof again
Oh what the dreamer saw

The street still screams of garbage thoughts
The stain of anxious eyes
Still we glimpse the faintest note
Of some battered somnambule men

Of the desire to know the wise
Fixed notions fashion them
Their rules police the street
No chance of Latif way

Holed down to crude belief
Answer with a childish quip
Locked inside a nation's pride
To boast the red of freedom blue

They take the purple side
I'm told from day to day
Tales slipped from behind
We're the guards of our mistakes

Often running blind
So the dreams that speak in tongues of wine
Taint the coming day
And if I seem to lag behind
Whisper me the way
The street still screams

Bismallahirrahmanirrahim