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All man are made from flesh and blood,
Of lips and eyes and water.
Inside is virtue, mixed with mud.
Plus mind, plus hands, plus trotter.
And you are weaved from pure sin,
Blind passions and desires.
Not taken out, not taken in
By things that man admires.
You are a thread without end,
Just whirling round and round.
Your feet are stepping on the land,
But soul's in heaven's sound.
And you are desperately lone
In solitary house,
Not waiting for the ring of phone
Of your unfaithful spouse.
You live for life, for life itself
Remembering and dreaming.
Enclosed in frame that can be melt
By tendering deceiving...
You doubt, wondering sometimes,
As days are slipping out
One month, one day and one decade
And sense decays to cloud.
All men are made of crazy nights
Of love or sad despair.
And they are blind, not seeing signs
And treating fate unfair.
They're praying dumb for their Gods,
For idols, made of gold.
In wine they sink, their evenings dim
Just thirty cents - and sold!
All man are sure made by us -
By our love or hatred.
We put them down or higher-class,
We make them scums or sacred.
We give them all or none at all,
Just putting traps with traces.
Seduce and leave, repulse or call
And handcuffs are the laces.
We don't know what we want.
Not men or women - both.
We hesitate or go ahead, -
The price is paid for those.
All men are made of eyes and hearts
And women made of ears.
This story ends - that story starts,
In dissolving disappears...
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