I'm taking syllables that I want to lose meaning, and painting them in white up on the ceiling. To swim around the air while I am sleeping. And in the morning they'll be a little bit blurrier.
And one morning I'll be squinting from my bed, to make out the letters overhead. But they blurred into a cloud up there instead. And I'm inviting you to be white paint. I'm inviting you to be white paint.
Where do you send things to, when your heart ain't got no room? 'Cause I'm set on banishing, my undying love, unwavering favor of all the wrong things.
Those syllables will sound against my skull, to echo and overlap until they dull. To blend in with the hum inside the walls. And I'm inviting you to be white noise. I'm inviting you to be white noise.
Where do you send things to, when your heart ain't got no room? 'Cause I'm set on banishing, my undying love, unwavering favor of all the wrong things.
And I'd like to know how difficult is it, to recreate established laws of physics? To dwell inside the confines of a minute, where everything just drones null and void? And in that instant you are just white noise...Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
