We agreed this city was like a morgue You said we would liven things up around here
This is red when we paint the walls with fire and pools of cream This is my mouth with sharp silver teeth and our implausible dream These are the blues when sung to you by blue lips the likes you've never seen
Will the smoke leave us time? Or has someone extinguished your fire? Maybe you'd rather be left behind? Maybe you'd rather be left behind?
This is how it sells when there is no product in the store This is how we enter when there are no handles on the door This is sleep when they remove the warmth from our little house This is how you glow burning there as quiet as a mouseTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
