All the Years Round
🎵 1493 characters
⏱️ 4:10 duration
🆔 ID: 5505971
📜 Lyrics
At first I saw them
In the bright morning light
A milestone on their shoulders
A horse at their side
A horse they came over
From the land of constant fight
At the corner they were waiting
For a winner of their size
Nut the managers were taking over
The profession of disguise
And they went into a rainbow
And they lived there for many years
Till one day they tried to go
But burning was their gear
Are you waiting for the take-off
Are you waiting for the show
No winner will be coming
You really should know
Neo-Nazi doom advisors sticking in the mud
While Hindustanian horses refuse a haircut
Windswept children running wild on the land
Lonely tele-typers ticking in Tschaikowsky's tent
Pig-pink-coloured ministers are ready to drop
They cut down all the flowers on the way to the top
While frogmen encircle the Zig-Zag Cinema
And salvation's sisters enter the Turkish Opera
Pudding-face publicity promoters call
For a sign on the invisible wall
While prophets drive past on compressed air
And caravans of cameras do not care
The boomerang battery bands-man on his sphinx-like bike
Is mostly from Saturday to Sunday on strike
While formulas go to pieces close at the ground
On their way down the hill all the years' round
Later I saw them
In a rusty limousine
A guitar on their shoulder
To leave the golden mean
Where the cleric is a clown
And the colours are clean
At the corner they were waiting
For a splendid slot machine
Which could change wine into water
And reality into a dream
In the bright morning light
A milestone on their shoulders
A horse at their side
A horse they came over
From the land of constant fight
At the corner they were waiting
For a winner of their size
Nut the managers were taking over
The profession of disguise
And they went into a rainbow
And they lived there for many years
Till one day they tried to go
But burning was their gear
Are you waiting for the take-off
Are you waiting for the show
No winner will be coming
You really should know
Neo-Nazi doom advisors sticking in the mud
While Hindustanian horses refuse a haircut
Windswept children running wild on the land
Lonely tele-typers ticking in Tschaikowsky's tent
Pig-pink-coloured ministers are ready to drop
They cut down all the flowers on the way to the top
While frogmen encircle the Zig-Zag Cinema
And salvation's sisters enter the Turkish Opera
Pudding-face publicity promoters call
For a sign on the invisible wall
While prophets drive past on compressed air
And caravans of cameras do not care
The boomerang battery bands-man on his sphinx-like bike
Is mostly from Saturday to Sunday on strike
While formulas go to pieces close at the ground
On their way down the hill all the years' round
Later I saw them
In a rusty limousine
A guitar on their shoulder
To leave the golden mean
Where the cleric is a clown
And the colours are clean
At the corner they were waiting
For a splendid slot machine
Which could change wine into water
And reality into a dream
⏱️ Synced Lyrics
[00:01.23] At first I saw them
[00:05.16] In the bright morning light
[00:09.95] A milestone on their shoulders
[00:17.19] A horse at their side
[00:21.02] A horse they came over
[00:25.06] From the land of constant fight
[00:31.57] At the corner they were waiting
[00:35.45] For a winner of their size
[00:39.67] Nut the managers were taking over
[00:47.20] The profession of disguise
[00:54.97] And they went into a rainbow
[01:03.23] And they lived there for many years
[01:10.50] Till one day they tried to go
[01:19.07] But burning was their gear
[01:25.45] Are you waiting for the take-off
[01:29.12] Are you waiting for the show
[01:32.50] No winner will be coming
[01:39.95] You really should know
[01:46.91] Neo-Nazi doom advisors sticking in the mud
[01:50.57] While Hindustanian horses refuse a haircut
[01:57.81] Windswept children running wild on the land
[02:01.26] Lonely tele-typers ticking in Tschaikowsky's tent
[02:08.38] Pig-pink-coloured ministers are ready to drop
[02:11.59] They cut down all the flowers on the way to the top
[02:18.67] While frogmen encircle the Zig-Zag Cinema
[02:22.20] And salvation's sisters enter the Turkish Opera
[03:25.43] Pudding-face publicity promoters call
[03:28.51] For a sign on the invisible wall
[03:35.61] While prophets drive past on compressed air
[03:39.08] And caravans of cameras do not care
[03:46.30] The boomerang battery bands-man on his sphinx-like bike
[03:49.55] Is mostly from Saturday to Sunday on strike
[03:56.65] While formulas go to pieces close at the ground
[04:00.35] On their way down the hill all the years' round
[04:08.65] Later I saw them
[04:09.18] In a rusty limousine
[04:09.62] A guitar on their shoulder
[04:10.12] To leave the golden mean
[04:10.43] Where the cleric is a clown
[04:10.78] And the colours are clean
[04:10.83] At the corner they were waiting
[04:11.00] For a splendid slot machine
[04:11.22] Which could change wine into water
[04:11.53] And reality into a dream
[04:11.78]
[00:05.16] In the bright morning light
[00:09.95] A milestone on their shoulders
[00:17.19] A horse at their side
[00:21.02] A horse they came over
[00:25.06] From the land of constant fight
[00:31.57] At the corner they were waiting
[00:35.45] For a winner of their size
[00:39.67] Nut the managers were taking over
[00:47.20] The profession of disguise
[00:54.97] And they went into a rainbow
[01:03.23] And they lived there for many years
[01:10.50] Till one day they tried to go
[01:19.07] But burning was their gear
[01:25.45] Are you waiting for the take-off
[01:29.12] Are you waiting for the show
[01:32.50] No winner will be coming
[01:39.95] You really should know
[01:46.91] Neo-Nazi doom advisors sticking in the mud
[01:50.57] While Hindustanian horses refuse a haircut
[01:57.81] Windswept children running wild on the land
[02:01.26] Lonely tele-typers ticking in Tschaikowsky's tent
[02:08.38] Pig-pink-coloured ministers are ready to drop
[02:11.59] They cut down all the flowers on the way to the top
[02:18.67] While frogmen encircle the Zig-Zag Cinema
[02:22.20] And salvation's sisters enter the Turkish Opera
[03:25.43] Pudding-face publicity promoters call
[03:28.51] For a sign on the invisible wall
[03:35.61] While prophets drive past on compressed air
[03:39.08] And caravans of cameras do not care
[03:46.30] The boomerang battery bands-man on his sphinx-like bike
[03:49.55] Is mostly from Saturday to Sunday on strike
[03:56.65] While formulas go to pieces close at the ground
[04:00.35] On their way down the hill all the years' round
[04:08.65] Later I saw them
[04:09.18] In a rusty limousine
[04:09.62] A guitar on their shoulder
[04:10.12] To leave the golden mean
[04:10.43] Where the cleric is a clown
[04:10.78] And the colours are clean
[04:10.83] At the corner they were waiting
[04:11.00] For a splendid slot machine
[04:11.22] Which could change wine into water
[04:11.53] And reality into a dream
[04:11.78]