Sunset the high-rise, By a motorway, A man looks up at the sky. An uneventful end to a day. on the man at the window, Looking at the down below. It's obvious he's got on his mind. He shakes his head, down the blind.
He start's a letter, To make it clear. He's a man who's reached the end of his rope, Expressing his and his fears. In a world, feels so and afraid, Disillusioned by the they made, It's a that it ended up this way, Life is a clich.
I'm gonna do I did yesterday. It's a dull routine, Somebody cut scene, such a boring clich.
life, day to day, so pass. Everything you and say, Just clich.
Like an actor on a screen, Living out someone dream. Living out a misconception, Reality, a perception.
It's such a life, any conclusion.
Days drift days, His life just away. so blas, a clich. Yes it is. Yes it is. an illusion. an illusion.
Moonlight the high-rise, At the end of the day. The man is asleep in his bed, up, safely away.
In his dreams he's away by alien beings to another galaxy, in space. To a planet where a man can live out his fantasies, and experience pleasures. But morning comes and soon the of life will shatter his illusions, and the clichs of the world bring him down. But he's waiting for a change.
drift into days, His just slips away. is pass, a clich. Yes it is. Yes it is. an illusion. an illusion. Yes it is. Yes it is.
See the sunlight the motorway, The man, with anger in his eyes, Stands by the window, at the sky.