I stand at the crossroads
to hear, what it tells
to wait for the devil
or just anything else

it's a lonesome place
and there's no sign
and everthing seems to be
a waste of time

all of my memories
are becoming ureal
as if I just seem to be
and if I can't feel
as if I can't feel
troubled heard

I stand at the crossroads
gazing at my hand
all I was holding on 
turned into sand

Even in there
I searched for a dime
but this turned out to be 
a waste of time

all of my memories
are becoming ureal
as if I just seem to be
and if I can't feel
as if I can't feel
troubled heard

troubled heart

Whale On Neptune