My lief es far en londenThe sea has bounds, desire nonenSpirit all compact of firenDance on the sands, tonightnnYour lips are conquerorsnYour lips are filled with liesnnLost, lost in what seemsnThat’s how it should benWho, who is to see?nWe write in waternNownnTouch me under this sinking skynI can command the smilenBe stirring as the timenBe fire with fire, with firennYour lips are conquerorsnYour lips are filled with liesnnLost, lost in what seemsnThat’s how it should benWho, who is to see?nWe write in waternNownnLost, lost in what seemsnThat’s how it should benWho, who is to see?nWe write in waternnLost, lost in what seemsnThat’s how it should benWho, who is to see?nWe write in water