Do it all, their design.
Finite wits, never mind.
Overwhelmed, undefined.
We complied, our crime.
Concealed by vice paradise
But the clowns still juggle their knives,
While slipping on leaves.
Time, a prime, set aside.
But we can use the hard line.
Concealed by vice paradise
But the clowns still juggle their knives,
While slipping on leaves.
The edges fray, the plates unwind.
Fearful eyes, the turning tide...
Concealed by vice paradise
But the clowns still juggle their knives,
While slipping on leaves.
Slipping on leaves.
Slipping on leaves...
Lyrics by John Berry