Long live to those unborn ideas on your head

The clowns laughing on your face

The edge of your death

Non-taken your observation,

how your criticism will fly away someday

Run away, run away

Oh, the sheep's running away

Her hope won't be calling and someone's taking away her sanity
And the clown will still laughing

Blank paper, quiet pen
Constipation of ideas
Would you please stop thinking for a while?
I need you to smile
 
And she's telling you to go away and take your lausy feelings with your ass
That's why she'd been told she's just too unreal for the world
And how come, the clown's still in his joy
Everybody wants to own a cat, but they all ignore that the cat is alive