The Waking Hours Lyrics

	作曲 : Holzwarth, Holzwarth ...
	I search the missing link that interlinks the tattered ends of a chain undone
	I watch the faceless shades passing by in lethargic state, dreaming of something to occur.
	I walk through canyons of concrete where the poet gets lost and a walking eye weeps, where no visionary dares to reside.
	And I sense
	Sisyphus climbing the hill with panting steps for this sad time weighs his run.
	In every waking hour
	In any kind of golden light
	In every moment of conception
	In every hour you try to feel always lies a sense of change
	I feel the sense of change as
	Sisyphus clutches at life but the lifeless shades of monotony obscure his brightest day
	Is all that's left a plain choise, to last or to fall on the edge of collective drab?
	Must we find fortune in constant revolt?
	In every waking hour
	In any kind of golden light
	In every moment of conception
	In every hour you try to awake

	zuo qu : Holzwarth, Holzwarth ...
	I search the missing link that interlinks the tattered ends of a chain undone
	I watch the faceless shades passing by in lethargic state, dreaming of something to occur.
	I walk through canyons of concrete where the poet gets lost and a walking eye weeps, where no visionary dares to reside.
	And I sense
	Sisyphus climbing the hill with panting steps for this sad time weighs his run.
	In every waking hour
	In any kind of golden light
	In every moment of conception
	In every hour you try to feel always lies a sense of change
	I feel the sense of change as
	Sisyphus clutches at life but the lifeless shades of monotony obscure his brightest day
	Is all that' s left a plain choise, to last or to fall on the edge of collective drab?
	Must we find fortune in constant revolt?
	In every waking hour
	In any kind of golden light
	In every moment of conception
	In every hour you try to awake

	zuò qǔ : Holzwarth, Holzwarth ...
	I search the missing link that interlinks the tattered ends of a chain undone
	I watch the faceless shades passing by in lethargic state, dreaming of something to occur.
	I walk through canyons of concrete where the poet gets lost and a walking eye weeps, where no visionary dares to reside.
	And I sense
	Sisyphus climbing the hill with panting steps for this sad time weighs his run.
	In every waking hour
	In any kind of golden light
	In every moment of conception
	In every hour you try to feel always lies a sense of change
	I feel the sense of change as
	Sisyphus clutches at life but the lifeless shades of monotony obscure his brightest day
	Is all that' s left a plain choise, to last or to fall on the edge of collective drab?
	Must we find fortune in constant revolt?
	In every waking hour
	In any kind of golden light
	In every moment of conception
	In every hour you try to awake

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