The Well

Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line What was taken for style could well be a mistake Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand I'm nothing but a dead man now, just a body laying at the bottom of a well Was inside in such a way, the universe now feels like being indoors Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line What was taken for style could well be a mistake Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand I'm nothing but a dead man now, just a body laying at the bottom of a well Believe me please, believe me now, I'm coming forth But the fist of a murderer leaves nothing to chance I was inside in such a way, the universe now feels like being indoors But the fist of my murderer leaves me nothing to chance I'm nothing but a dead man now, just a body laying at the bottom of a well Believe me please, believe me now, I'm coming forth But the fist of a murderer leaves nothing to chance Our hands try to draw what is nothing but divine But our stroke is a part of the Venetian line What was taken for style could well be a mistake Or nothing but a flaw of the guilty hand