On my crumbled hiding-places
On my sunken lighthouses
On my walls and my ennui
I write your name
On abstraction without desire
On naked solitude
On the marches of death
I write your name
And for the want of a word
I renew my life
For I was born to know you
To name you
Freedom
Paul Eluard, 1942 (Liberte)
They could write a novel
Trying to diagnose you
But the truth is you're a slave to your body
You could be a winner
Everybody knows it's a shame you're such a slave to your body
Oh, feels good
Living in the seconds
It's no fun to think
Next, before or banal
Well, prudence is a bitch and patience doesn't cut it
Lust is in your bed and she loves you
The other kids admire
Mimic her attire
She's your favorite person to talk to
Oh, you fall
At least you're wearing diamonds
One day you can have it all
And f*ck your way to heaven
Oh it feels good
Living in the seconds
It's no fun to think
Next, before or banal
You're a slave to your body
Slave to your body
Slave to your body
Slave to your body