Tale of the Tongue - Peter Murphy

The time is coming ripe

We are running fast

I see you coming closer

Closer to the mask

Come closer treat me softly

Where can the dreamer be?

How far we’ve come to know

How much we’ve come to see

And when I ask you softly

Oh what the real men saw

As I hit the roof again

Oh what the dreamer saw

The street still screams

The street still screams of garbage thoughts

The stain of anxious guys

Still we glimpse the faintest note

Of some battered somnambulant men

Of the desire to know the whys

The street still screams

Fixed notions fashion them

Their rules police the street

No chance of Latin way

Hold down to crude belief

Lassoed in the charges' web

Locked inside the nation’s pride

To boast the red of freedom’s move

They take the purple side

I’m told from day to day

Gaol slip from behind

We are the guards of our mistakes

Off and running blind

So the dreamer speaks in time drunk wine

Take the coming day

If I seem to lag behind

Whisper me the way

The street still screams