Analog Park کے بول

In the garden, in the park, on a bench, I sit A newspaper floats on the breeze of this late summer It is coming my way, I patiently wait I see the sign, it's on the road and I think it's crazy In the garden, of the park, on a bench, I watch The sandy feet of the children Pearls of sweat run across their beautiful faces You see the sign, it's on the road, but I think you're crazy You are, you are the sign of my unrelief As I easily get inner contact with myself I notice distress grabbing for my throat It is time to reach out to find something that isn't there You see the signs, they're on the road, but I think it's crazy You are, you are the sign of my unrelief