To care, or not to care To be there In the distant and uncertain To be aware In an old Iberian hotel room That the devil Is not behind the curtain She said walk in small steps And fear floating We made a pact As Saturn approaching Leaned on the sky And smoking a cigarrette Said it's late You should be going The wind is howling The house is showing High numbers Boat to an island on the wall A Hand striking in slow motion Future singing in a field Shooting season's open To care, or not care To be aware In your absence they made your choices for you You're supposed to laugh Said the fortune to his sailor This is the black mountain path Or these are the sunny shores to nowhere Well Boat to an island on the wall A hand striking in slow motion Future singing in a field Shooting season's open Boat to an island on the wall A hand striking in slow motion That's it, that's it all Shooting season's open