Arc Gotic The Madman's Tale
I walk in fear
Through the public gardens
Looking for all that was dear
And I caress the statues
With my gentle touch
Nobody feels my presence
So much the better
Tabacco flavoured desillusions
And balconies with remote views
The autumn lovers in the dance halls
And sound of military march
I fill my pockets
With wet, wet leaves
In the morning
Under you mirror
Tribute to leave
I hear the whistle
Of the wrecked train
That left so many years ago
This is my tale to tell
That no one cares to hear
