When the razors break in us it's time to give in With a feast of wood and dust, a diet of glass, contort, distort Why am I so attracted to the dangerous relationships so false and cinematic? for I belong it seems nowhere, slowly imploding, so delicate, with all the answers inside out My time at war with myself I wish I could touch my shin with my knees I don't have any joints in my legs, my fingernails start at my ankles and wrists How could you recognise me wounded, I thought I had covered it up. Di, dice, die, diceTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
