|
Angra |
|
Holy Land |
|
Z.i.t.o. |
|
(Loureiro, Bittencourt, Matos) |
|
Somehow I turn around and see |
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My nerves break down inside |
|
Maybe you might know much more than me |
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So tell me what is right to say |
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Down the weakness of my soul |
|
Lie the secrets, and I know |
|
There's something pushing back |
|
Wish my hands could turn to gold |
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And my heart would break the cold |
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To give my thoughts some sense |
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The turn is close, new century |
|
Still people think they're kings |
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Now you've got your voice, |
|
Your own speech |
|
Don't wait 'till someone else agress |
|
Swimming naked of beliefs |
|
And responsabilities |
|
Just feel the sea of bliss |
|
Mother nature brings to me |
|
In fantastic purity |
|
Everything I need |
|
Like a teenager discovery |
|
What's more delightful than this? |
|
Try to remember how good it was |
|
Feeling the life as it is |
|
To believe! |
|
New world was born out of man's dreams |
|
Now we walk on our own |
|
The angels cried, you've heard them weep |
|
But now it's time to make them sing! |
|
Swimming naked of beliefs |
|
And responsabilities |
|
Just feel the sea of bliss |
|
Mother nature brings to me |
|
In fantastic purity |
|
Everything I need |
|
Like a teenager discovery |
|
What's more delightful than this? |
|
Try to remember how good it was |
|
Feeling the life as it is |
|
To believe! |
