It's crazy but often clear, often clear,
We shimmer and disappear,
In color, in black and white, black and white,
We slowly, fade out of sight.
But these days,
We're lit by lightning,
Thin lines of light.
It's crazy but somehow clear, somehow clear,
And we ride in silence out of fear,
We've spoken seem come alive, come alive,
We prefer the silence of the blind.
But these days,
We're lit by lightning,
Thin lines of light.
These days,
We're lit by lines,
Of, sharp, white, shock,
White, ice, hard, cold,
White, light.
We're crazy but often kind, often kind,
And rage in violence, blind,
Together and then alone, then alone,
We race in small circles home.
But these days,
We're lit by lightning,
Thin lines of light.
These days,
We're lit by lines,
Of, sharp, white, light.
These days,
Were lit by lightning,
Thin lines of light.
These days,
We're lit by light.