Travel — The Gathering

Melodic stanzas are symphonizing their way through your weary head

To feed your distrust And fill it's mouth with the desire to soulfully be one with your creation

Not a subject to control you call upon a higer power for help and inspiration

The crowd waits and turns their faces towards you expectantly you give them what they need But their useless criticism makes you die a bit more inside

Not a subject to control you call upon a higer power for help and inspiration

Oh, I swoon while loudspeakers play soft music

Leaning over your fourtieth masterpiece You must have loved the colour of these violins

I wish I knew you Your fit of insanity makes me sad

I wish you knew your music was to stay forever And I hope...

I have no clue if you know how much it matters And I hope...