In the dark, it all seemed so clear In the haze behind the door, the bed seemed so near Can it be? Now we swept through frostbites And see the Antarctic behind the lids of our eyes Where sap parts lips, I lose my grip If this is starboard, is it the end of the ship Or just the start of what's wrong, and the line that it draws Between the pool and the flood and our tightly clamped jaws?
Maybe the fridge is still open The spring air has cooled down For the wind carries ice cubеs through town Maybe the fridge is still opеn Or spring air has cooled down For the wind carries ice cubes Through town Through town
Let's talk about this road for a minute, and the light between the trees I bet we both saw it, even though we both were asleep Its remarks, they are not waiting for replies They're the kind that's heard best with closed eyes These veins align drawings on inches of age Imagine writing when you cannot see the edge of the page Imagine a fire, and the lights are filled with liquid nitrogen Burning a darkness that doesn't make sense
Maybe the heater is broken Or the shutters ain't closed For the wind pushes the desert to the coast Maybe the heater is broken Or the shutters ain't closed For the wind pushes the desert For the wind pushes the desert, pushes the desert Pushes the desert, pushes the desert Pushes the desert, pushes the desert Pushes the desert to the coast
Admit there's no coldness in giving in, no warmth in leaving No lukewarm, no half-ass, no Icarus wings No fridge door, no gas stove, no air conditioning No blankets, no pillows, no sleep on our skins No coldness in giving in, no warmth in leaving No lukewarm, no half-ass, no Icarus wings No fridge door, no gas stove, no air conditioning No blankets, no pillows, no sleep on our skins
No coldness in giving in, no warmth in leaving No lukewarm, no half-ass, no Icarus wings No fridge door, no gas stove, no air conditioning No blankets, no pillows, no sleep on our skins
No coldness in giving in, no warmth in leaving No lukewarm, no half-ass, no Icarus wings No fridge door, no gas stove, no air conditioning No blankets, no pillows, no sleep on our skin
There's no coldness in giving in, no warmth in leaving No lukewarm, no half-ass, no Icarus wings No fridge door, no gas stove, no air conditioning No blankets, no pillows, no sleep on our skins Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |
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