Текст песни Storyteller

The cities, the rain, the heat, the lights.
He would tell if there were something to tell,
but there is nothing to tell.

"They want the exciting stories from the front but there
is nothing to tell. Nebulous memories of absurd and
macabre. The cities, the rain, the heat, the lights.He
would tell if there were something to tell but the
milieux of moments is tough to sift through. The thick
brush is hardly the instrument of finely painted Comadre - Storyteller - http://ru.motolyrics.com/comadre/storyteller-lyrics.html
recollections. Conceptual ramblings, monochromatic,
vague. Jackson Pollock's personally drawn Rorschach test
- lesser artst have gotten away with worse. With time and
practice, the strokes will become refined and the
subjects discernable: the borders, the local cuisine, the
people, how her hair fell, just how many beers. Sat in a
static studio apartment, one takes on no dimension or
definition without his presence, he will fill the blank
walls with these vissages. He will paint the walls."