Thomas the Saint

Thomas the Saint

I still believe in the ancient world
This is my doom
Does the ancient world still believe in me
I bet you do
I still believe there is no clue
If I’m right or wrong
Or alive in a tomb
My desert my own private landscape

I knew a guy he was a cloud
He patronized with a Russian name
Babouchka he said is my true mother
A foot in the balance the other one in the grave
Skiny as a cigarette paper
He could split in between two couches
He could commit himself with the most
Unconfortable burden
He would sleep in any whereabouts
Cause he would never sleep for real
He had to listen to some radio
Classical music if you don’t mind sir

He could play the chess like a true wizard
Several boards the same time
I could say three I could say five
Minerva was keeping quiet
Casting his shadow in the back
He was a twenty-six year old man
He was drinking so high could not stare at the games
Cause he didn’t need to
Giving up is no dishonour my friend
Kept saying all around

And he won all the battles in a glance
Grazing on the tables a low-degree angle sight
Like he was only counting imaginary numbers
And I miss this guy and I feel I have to pay
Some obedience
I feel I have to pay some homage
To his memory
Because I don’t even know
If he’s gone or if it’s a true story
He became a shaman in the depth of Siberia
Playing with my melancholia

I still believe
In the ancient world and all the crazy parties
I still believe
If my dreams make it through
It’s all the people I knew
Working on
Through my bones
It’s all the people I met
Creating some vortex where I’m lost
In disguise

Knocking at my door
Ringing the bell
Gimme a call my ghost is always
About to welcome you
We are no vampires
We’re just a bit
Demanding when it’s time
To survive
When it’s time