To care, or not to care
To be there
In the distant and uncertain
To be aware
In an old Iberian hotel room
That the devil
Is not behind the curtain
She said walk in small steps
And fear floating
We made a pact
As Saturn approaching
Leaned on the sky
And smoking a cigarrette
Said it's late
You should be going
The wind is howling
The house is showing
High numbers

Boat to an island on the wall
A Hand striking in slow motion
Future singing in a field
Shooting season's open

To care, or not care
To be aware
In your absence they made your choices for you
You're supposed to laugh
Said the fortune to his sailor
This is the black mountain path
Or these are the sunny shores to nowhere
Well

Boat to an island on the wall
A hand striking in slow motion
Future singing in a field
Shooting season's open
Boat to an island on the wall
A hand striking in slow motion
That's it, that's it all
Shooting season's open