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Nico La

Free Mitglied, hoffnung

i will never be a clown

the execution of my soul is what I'm waiting for,
I'm locked in a giant cell.

there are big doors in sparkling white, I've walked through two of them.
the way upstairs is getting thin.

the air looks clean but toxic smells, my eyes gaze nervously,
they will never get my mind.

I am strong, I will not die, your hands are leading me.
through the walls your spirit soaks.

I see my father at the top, his feet and hands are sore,
he survived almost 40 doors.

all of them he painted white. his brush is worn-out now.
one door left and he'll be free.

people above they look like clowns, you never see them laugh.
i will never be a clown.

i'd rather die outside in peace, than live in this white cell.
maybe I can fly.

the third door I'm reaching now, will be the last for me.
maybe I can fly.

crosses at walls, crosses above, my face is white, will stay,
maybe I can fly.

the s * sense - the way upstairs is getting thin


Nico La

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