In greece as I've saidnVerse and Lyre set the rhythms of actionnAnd afterwards music and rhyme are games, pastimennEverything growsnCause anything goesnWe cannot knownBecause we are inside itnEverything growsnCause anything goesnnI'm almost the islandnI'm almost the islandnnIn greece as I've saidnVerse and Lyre set the rhythms of actionnAnd afterwards music and rhyme are games, pastimenKeeping only quietnessnnWe gather, we gather, we gather we gathernnWe gather up the fruit of the mindnPen pushers and authors always full of numbers that crumblenThe poet is truly the fire stealernThe poet is truly the fire stealernThe stealers, the stealers, the stealers, the stealers, the stealers,nnEverything growsnCause anything goesnnWhat do we remind you of? And when you come around the shownYou'll never make it up that fastnWhen no one else considers morenAnd I can tell you one more thingnYou'll never come back here for more.nThere's nothing but a broken standnAnd lovers crouching on the floor (repeat 1)nnEverything growsnCause anything goesnWe cannot know because we are inside itnnI'm almost an islandnBut not quite yetnI'm almost an islandnBut not quite yet