Neon signs reflected on wet tarmac
cars passing by with lights like eyes
you look behind sensing you are followed
then right before you out of a gateway
a group of monks approaches you
all dressed in red bordered fox

they surround and block your way

they want to know what you think

they want to know how you feel

they want to know who you are

you don't have an answer

so what do you say

you are not sure what you think

you don't believe in what you feel

you've forgotten who you are

the monks not, they don't get angry

we keep track of the thoughts in your head

we even know about the hole in your heart

make no mistake

you're being controlled

and then they let you pass on

you run run fast, are you pursued

not that something is calling you

something is tangible like light in black water

like that shooting star you wished upon so long ago

and you wonder if you'll ever catch it

those cars driving past seem to be empty

but they know where to go

you're empty too but without destination

run anyway no matter where to

one thing is for sure

there is no turning back from Circle Eight



(Gracias a antonio por esta letra)