Life is just an exhibition,
A rehearsal for what’s real.
Flipping through the possibilities,
Time erases how you feel –
Little by little, it steals.
Maps without places, nameless roads,
Fields, detours, and mazes unfold.
You dress up to be seen,
Among the crowd, so unseen.
In the funhouse of vanity’s glass,
You see yourself, but it won’t last.
The distortion hits, it’s hard to bear,
You finally feel, but you’re unaware –
Strange in a foreign air.
What remains on the board of your life?
Illusions or dreams?
Disguises and lies, foolish strife?
Shouts from the void, it seems.
The glance from the table beside,
Promises nothing, nowhere to hide.
You slip through the hours and days,
Your life crashes down in a meaningless haze.
What’s left when the time runs out?
All those choices turn to doubt.
The mirror cracks, the image fades,
Trapped in the game the world has made.
Strange in the foreign air,
Lost in the mirror’s glare,
Fading away in despair,
You’ll find yourself, but you’re not there.
Text & Musik: W. S. & AI Music Generator
Arrangement: Werner Stangl, Linz
Deutscher Originaltext: Die Galerie des Lebens