Ruins of time (T.+M.: Jörg Laakmann) Blood on the floor in the morning. Somebody died from someones hand. Loud were the speeches and warnings – silent the prayers of the friends. Small towns they soon become bigger. This one is smaller this time. Small was that finger on the trigger – lonesome that shot in the night. chorus: May all the suffering and all the crime Just fall like dust on the ruins of time Some have to grow up in prison. Can you tell me what it´s like To make up your mind there in prison with voices that yell: “Never mind!”? And all that goes on around you is tiring and simple as hell And all that goes on inside you – what´s right or wrong you can´t tell. chorus: Freedom is a word without meaning if you only know it from books. Some try to find it on the ceiling with a wire, a chair and a hook. [chorus: