Tristan and Isolda

Isolda is walking in the park
Playing with her feets in the grass
The G string in the air, an A falls in the ground

Tristan losing his mind little by little
The demons grows in the body
Just a nice dream in wired nights

Is the low desire of the threes, of the threes
But this is the opposite of sex, is the opposite of sex…

Soon the sweet Isolda met a man of the oceans
And in the lodges she was waves of fire
Just the death could be the solution
For that love that has been denied…denied

Is the low desire of the threes, of the threes
“You never will be loved” Tristan heard in the long-ago
“Too late” he said, throwing his knife, by the highway listening Leonard Cohen, yeah.

Just the opposite of sex, just the opposite of sex…