| In the coloured corridors of circles and strange shapes | |
| Existing just to juggle balls and dropping spinning plates | |
| Passion burns up empathy and lets your ego rule | |
| But somewhere deep inside a seed of doubt is pushing through | |
| At night when all the world's asleep a voice inside me calls and | |
| I... Drop my balls | |
| I got a raging doubt that something here is wrong | |
| Maybe I should say something stand out and be strong | |
| And if you try to justify they'll throw you in the cellar with the others | |
| Common sense and heroes are so laughably absent | |
| Passion? Give me some empathy | |
| Passion? Give me some empathy | |
| I cannot recollect a single word you said | |
| When people drown in ponds and drains | |
| A bag over the head | |
| And if you try to justify they'll throw you in the cellar with the others | |
| Common sense and heroes just a quaint reminder | |
| Passion? Give me some empathy | |
| Passion? Give me some empathy | |
| No no not here not now | |
| No no not here not now | |
| I said who do you think you are? | |
| I said who do you think you are? | |
| I watched your crawl across the floor | |
| Towards this ancient temple door | |
| A tragedy most can't resist | |
| Your strange intoxication |
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