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Every hour is a season |
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Every minute lasts a day |
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So I sit here picking stitches |
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I find comfort in decay |
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How I long to fill my lungs |
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So tell me how does it feel to, |
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Breathe air cold and clean ' |
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Cause I've been living on my knees since |
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I was seventeen |
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Thought I was safe beneath the smoke, |
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But even under cover |
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I still choke |
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Well my wings were clipped and even if they weren't (Even if they weren't) |
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I've not the guts to fly and leave behind the |
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Earth (Leave behind the Earth) |
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There's no poetry in my soul, (Poetry, in my soul) |
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Just a list of lies |
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I've told, (There's just lies, that I've told) |
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And I don't know how much longer |
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I can hold on. |
|
Well my wings were clipped and even if they weren't (Even if they weren't) |
|
I've not the guts to fly and leave behind the earth (Leave behind the Earth) |
|
There's no poetry in my soul, |
|
Just a list of lies |
|
I've told |
|
And I don't know how much longer |
|
I can hold on |
|
My wings were clipped but even if they weren't |
|
I've not the guts to fly and leave behind the earth |
|
There's no poetry in my soul |
|
Just a list of lies |
|
I've told |
|
And I don't know how much longer |
|
I can hold... |
