C.C.Munster - Puzzled By The Pieces [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

[Verse 1]
The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb
Take a look at the sky, cause it dies soon
That ain't the case for the Infant, all these are remnants
Of the old gothic lies that have been written in sentience
Without sapience of the heart, leaving the doors ajar
For further ignorance, oh blessed be the cart
Brand New Eyes, the elders tell
Eyes Wide Shut, out of this cell
Phoning the bells, cause it's time for some noise
Turn the radio on, it's not my choice
Turn the radio off, everything sucks
Look at my descendants, grab the coffee mug
I see your face, it's as clear as it gets
Ignorance is bliss, but look at the texts
So long, call the charioteer
Now is the hour, but you ain't here

[Chorus]
Puzzled by the pieces, but it all kind of fits, it makes the right hits, my conscience sits
Don't be so wary, my other eyes deem it scary, you won't believe the underground glitz

[Verse 2]
It takes a man of feeling to break the Generation X
A thousand cranes feel smacked, I hear the silence crack
You take a trip over this shampoo planet
But all families are psychotic, so you can't plan it
Oh brave new world, we visit animal farms
But the shadow of the wind leaves a mark on our forearm
Our minds open to an absolute midnight
I had to force you, but now you sit tight
Hey Nostradamus, got a new one for you
So come out of the coma to see what you can do
Ghostwritten atlases chronicle our stars
In this nameless city with these empty cars
If the fisherman cut his soul for love and devotion
Then we can become a whole, through peace and emotion
When a selfish giant turns to a devoted friend
Then it means our world is not at its end

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]
My sixteen ran out, I've seen the pictures
At the exhibition, it was the right mixture
A counterpoint to the mass, a parallel to the frown
And a stretto for all the sounds in this town
A fugue to the air and my mind to the chair
There is so much going on, a motet in my hair
But three things revolving round the same duct
Are an elitists nightmare and they are the clucks