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letra de end of line - headhaunter

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i’m on the red line
ricocheted bullet train – white hot projectile
still asleep as we blur by
stirred by the end of line warnings, sayonara’s, next times

the city pulled into frame fast
like the opening scene of a silver screen classic
and nostalgia comes slithering back
with disgust and desire coiled in the same bag

where the buildings all twist downward at nightfall
you’ll feel a drop as the clouds start a dialogue
where thunder’s more common than silencе
an idea’s more rare than round shards of light bulbs

thеn we glide underneath buzzing power lines
where the billboards say you’re running out of time
and the targeting systems
that argue within every drone is heard with stunning sound design

where the guides know the answers but they won’t tell you
and rogue spies stab each other in their hotel rooms
where the bars serve lost souls, as their old selves snooze
in the dirt with a thirst that they won’t quench soon or ever

and the goons always move together
where the feedback’s looping itself in a noose
and my train rolls through the nether
past a rainbow’s end that is melting to ooze
where the neon drenched streets run empty
where the sea sits too still
where the air feels too heavy
and shadows fly drunk from the ink you spill x2

shhh, the city’s still asleep
as downtown twitches in the middle of a dream
there’s eyes in the sewers, long fingers to the sea
where the cold case answers are hidden in the deep

and my train roars in the foggy morning
where the law and order’s got the tallest fence
and reporters are told to stop recording
or get drawn and quartered by the armoured mechs

where the who’s who is who’d you assume
producing cubed food too brutal to chew through
where doom and gloom just grew to full bloom
a fuse had just blew a few screws loose

and who knew taking coins from the slumbering dragon
was spending a few moons waking him up
now he flew here, poised above hundreds of banks where
the brokers in new suits pay him in blood

where serial k!llers find viable partners in crime
via apps as a likeable monster
and violent stepfathers in lab coats
are doing trial runs, to perfect every childhood trauma
where the sky is just cold dark sp-ce
except for the light of a single bright dot
the train doors open and don’t close again
so i guess that this is my stop

where the neon drenched streets run empty
where the sea sits too still
where the air feels too heavy
and shadows fly drunk from the ink you spill x2

- headhaunter

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