What will you do son, what will you do?
I'm folding my clothes to give them to you
You'll wear my masks and you'll carry my chains
You've got no reason to complain
His forehead the wall to the city
His eyes the guardsmen of the river
His nose an unclimbable mountain
His mouth to make you a believer
In the words stuck in his throat
His heart so bloody and so remote
His lungs the skies from where the hurricanes rise
He unbuttons another button on his coat
Riding this hurricane
High above the ground
All of time has led to these tears
Falling to the ground
We all carry umbre...