The Well Songtext
von John Coffey

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