Legend - Alphaville

He is sitting on a hill

A vapid night is crawling through the vale

The trees are fangs of transiency

The demons forge hammers and nails

The spring is in the air

The sirens in the skies

The wind is in his hair

The morning`s in his eyes

The rain turns on And he will be On the phone

The world has left alone…

He will travel all the ways

That lead to the unknown lands

Time has distorted his view

An amen in his due

The spring is in the air

The sirens in the skies

The wind is in his hair

The morning`s in his eyes

The rain turns on And he will be On the phone

The world has left alone…