At first I saw them
In the bright morning light
A milestone on their shoulders
A horse at their side
A horse they came over
From the land of constant fight

At the corner they were waiting
For a winner of their size
Nut the managers were taking over
The profession of disguise

And they went into a rainbow
And they lived there for many years
Till one day they tried to go
But burning was their gear

Are you waiting for the take-off
Are you waiting for the show
No winner will be coming
You really should know

Neo-Nazi doom advisors sticking in the mud
While Hindustanian horses refuse a haircut
Windswept children running wild on the land
Lonely tele-typers ticking in Tschaikowsky's tent
Pig-pink-coloured ministers are ready to drop
They cut down all the flowers on the way to the top
While frogmen encircle the Zig-Zag Cinema
And salvation's sisters enter the Turkish Opera

Pudding-face publicity promoters call
For a sign on the invisible wall
While prophets drive past on compressed air
And caravans of cameras do not care
The boomerang battery bands-man on his sphinx-like bike
Is mostly from Saturday to Sunday on strike
While formulas go to pieces close at the ground
On their way down the hill all the years' round

Later I saw them
In a rusty limousine
A guitar on their shoulder
To leave the golden mean
Where the cleric is a clown
And the colours are clean

At the corner they were waiting
For a splendid slot machine
Which could change wine into water
And reality into a dream

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