Wish I could write songs about anything other than death But I can't go to bed without drawing the red, shaving off breaths Each one so heavy Each one so cumbersome Each one a lead weight hanging between my lungs Spilling my guts Sweat on a microphone, breaking my voice Whenever I'm alone with you, can't talk but "Isn't this weather nice? Are you okay?" Should I go somewhere else and hide my face? A sprinter learning to wait
A marathoon runner, my ankles are sprained A marathoon runner, my ankles are sprainedTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
