- cifra
The flower grew the wall
Displaying all of his colour
The motive wasn't clear
But you wouldn't understand
Now we're getting on like fire
With matchsticks in our eyes
And the money men are here
With yes men to their sides
The audience approves
With a movement of clothing
But they never even see
The nature of this illusion
Now we're getting on like fire
Let's burn it to the ground
And the warning, it came so clear
But I couldn't see the signs
There's a plate in my head
There's a chip in my head
