She Is There - Motorama

Sick and poor, he runs through everglade

Face is covered with grey dirt, color of his clothes

Bengal lights illuminate his way

Fiasco for the daytime

Triumph for the night

Who is there with black feathers in white hands?

Her perfume is filling up his head

Weight and depth, only weight and depth

Bottomless depth, bottomless depth

And in the safety of her bed

In the nameless place you know she is there

And in the safety of her bed

In the nameless place you know she is there