The Prophet - Instrumental

You have to admit they live in a funny time
They spend the most they earn
To heal the wounds they cause themselves
And this new deal, so called, computer era
I can't deny they look like monkeys in neckties

Ready for this knowledge they are not
But interfere with them
It's written we cannot
Seven kids were running and played
Under that fat old sun they made

And what about that so called power
Why do the elite decide
For most of humankind
Doesn't it sound like a childish way to rule
They made all our prophets burn into flames

Ready for this knowledge they are not
But interfere with them
It's written we cannot
Seven kids were running and played
Under that fat old sun they made

I always saw them sitting there
Every night and every day
Keep remembering stories of so many other earths

Some alive and some which smell of death
Some just found peace and some still live in war
They laughed and giggled every time when they waved me "hello"
Where the hell did they come from?

Where the hell did they come from?
My dear friends
I really can't tell
But I remember the last words
Before they vanished out of the blue
Feed your body only as much as you'll feed your soul

I always saw them sitting there
Every night and every day
Keep remembering stories of so many other earths