Grasp the hot poker, stop the shaking, peel away the burnt skin
Steady the nerve, hold still the brush, pick up the mirror
I know nothing of you
But you disturb me
Good that the youngsters shout
That the attendant admonishes
That I am not left alone, simply to be
Nearby are ruins and cathedrals
Torturous pasts, crawled over whispers
I know nothing of you
But still you disturb me
In an easy armchair, on a quiet morning
The storms, they seem to have passed
Grey skies, now with silver sunlight
Soft music falls over the airwaves
Still I know nothing of you
But you disturb me
