Testo Strikes

No noise nor silence
but echoes of violence

Always on the search for any stranger's hand,
reaching down to me take from the quicksands.
The mud's too slippery, my fingers couldn't grope.
I allowed myself to sink by cowardice and sloth.
Because I thought that I was dreaming,
I found myself crushed in a Schiele's Embrace,
in security, crucified on its picture frame.

I was shooting so high
and diving so low
shooting so high
diving so low.

Someone came and broke the glass to pieces,
changed the rythm, set the insect free

from its stiff attitude into a waving misery,
something like a slug...
Always on the search for an ultimate hand
to put me back in my picture frame.

My life drags on between the light and shade
of the electric tones of my TV set.
I'm dragging on and on between the light and shade.
I'm never too close to the receding screen
but always too far from a new color scheme,
I'm running on and on wild and wild in an endless line.

I was shooting so high
and diving so low
shootinf so high
diving so low
I did it slow...

Put me in my picture frame, leave me in my own embrace
put me in my picture frame
and leave my own embrace.