A shiny vine that climbs up the side and grinds all the mortar out A tiny worm that winds through your mind and tunnels deep throughout A photograph in fading color, a bruise that's yet to bloom Death slowly shuts its mouth and ups to leave the room
A little shiver that soon proves feverish, shaking, sweating for air A magician's swift illusion, a hope that was never there A scalpel in a shaking hand, a clotting pool of doubt Death slowly shakes his head, 'cuz he'll sit this one outTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
