It’s by design: the constructs stand, the heads will ring, lost from all
the simple things.
A moment caught, a moment spent, for popsters all the losers then can’t
figure out something is wrong
The secret’s out, the mystery’s gone
I’m waiting for the one to call me on what I owe her, take me straight
on her shoulders, lift me up show me how
One hand raised, a straight arm; goose step, click
Still, something’s dying
The constructs stand, the heads will ring, lost from all the simple things.