Somebody tell me about the rhythm of the 4th floor.. Somebody tell me about the rhythm of the dance floor. Somebody tell me about the perfect bomb. The royal valley on a blitzkrieg bomb.
In the temple of love you hide together. Believing pain and fear outside. But someone near you rides the weather. And the tears he cried will rain on walls.
With the fire from the fire works up above me. With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain at hand. You run for the cover in the temple of love. You run for another but still the same.