Crawling on the fabric, pulling all the strings unknown.
This is the only way for history to spare me the sun.
Crawl away, bringing me out, exposing the flesh not seen in years.
This man inscribes it all from inside the sun, on solar flares, leaving me whole, but buried again, and crawling on my way, to circumvent the sun.
Can we believe these fingerprints?

The history...
Herodotus the liar.
Radio waves of Saturn, sing me to sleep on solar flares.
Radio waves diving to everything, and it's extraordinary, so they say we don't believe in every moment inscribed in the time.
Radio waves of Saturn, sing me to sleep. Radio waves diving to everything, and it's extraordinary.
So they say, we believe again, say to me:
Europa revile me. The history hidden.
Lost in a sun, Herodotus the liar.
Radio waves of Saturn, sing me to sleep. So they say, we don't believe anymore.

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