|
Sometimes, |
|
When I wake at night, |
|
I feel that nothing on Earth, |
|
Could ever hurt me. |
|
Sometimes, |
|
When I know my mind, |
|
I feel like nothing I say, |
|
Could ever deserve me. |
|
I'm stood on the tip of my own tounge, |
|
I'm caught in the space between the concept and the execution, |
|
I'm stuck in the back of my own throat, |
|
I'm stuck in the void between the instinct and the institution. |
|
It's more than for Capulet, |
|
takes more that a dictionaire. |
|
Sometimes, |
|
when I wake at night, |
|
I feel that nothing on Earth, |
|
Could ever hurt me. |
|
Sometimes, |
|
When I know my mind, |
|
I feel like nothing I say, |
|
Could ever deserve me. |
|
I'm stood on the tip of my own tounge, |
|
I'm caught in the spae between the concept and the execution, |
|
I'm stuck in the back of my own throat, |
|
I'm stuck in the void between the instinct and the institution. |
|
It's more than for Capulet, |
|
takes more that a dictionaire. |
|
Sometimes, |
|
When I wake at night, |
|
I feel that nothing on Earth, |
|
Could ever hurt me. |
|
Sometimes, |
|
When I know my mind, |
|
I feel like nothing I say, |
|
Could ever deserve me. |
|
Sometimes, |
|
When I wake at night, |
|
I feel that nothing on Earth, |
|
Could ever hurt me. |
|
Sometimes, |
|
When I know my mind, |
|
I feel like nothing I say, |
|
Could ever deserve me. |