Out Of The Blue

Close your eyes until everything that counts is out of sight.
Hold your breath until there's no one left breathing.
Lay your head to rest until the day is gone and turns to night
Shut your mouth because there is nothing worth speaking about.
♫
Feel your rebellion against
The words you spoke and tried to make them true.
Leave it behind, you don't need it to live.
Feel your aggression against
What you believed 'til it rolled over you.
Swallow it down, keep quiet and forgive.
'Cause blessed are the silent and holy the meek
And when the noise is gone
Leave everything behind and make it new.
And when the void has come
Recreate yourself out of the blue:
A blank sheet of paper: you're the words
You are the feather, you're the ink.
Make it a prophecy of what the rising morning will bring.
♫
Like sand through hands my life slips away
It gets devoured like paper in the flames
I need a reboot or at least a change,
This was my home, when did I become a stranger?
My life a mess
My soul endangered
My heart distressed
But I will not wince, nor cry aloud.
You won't see me whimper, won't hear me shout.
'Cause blessed are the silent, and holy the meek
Lost is the complacent, misguided, clamorous crowd.
And when the noise is gone
Leave everything behind and make it new.
And when the void has come
Recreate yourself out of the blue.
A blank sheet of paper: you're the words
You are the feather, you're the ink.
Make it a prophecy.
♫
Keep your eyes shut, calm your breathing down
Chill your hot blood, get your feet on the ground
It is crucial not to make a sound
To enter the cradle of silence to forget
About your worries and your frowns.
And your misery
And your anger.
All your sadness
And your hate.
All your happiness
And your passion.
All distraction,
Let it fade
And when the noise is gone
Leave everything behind and make it new.
And when the void has come
Recreate yourself out of the blue.
A blank sheet of paper: you're the words
You are the feather, you're the ink.
Make it a prophecy.
And when the noise is gone
Leave everything behind and make it new.
And when the void has come
Recreate yourself out of the blue.
A blank sheet of paper: you're the words
You are the feather, you're the ink.
Make it a prophecy.
Of what the rising morning will bring