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I don't wanna hear about the peaches in the Vatican |
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Oh and I don't wanna hear about the bird on the hill |
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And why you wanna fight when you know that I'll be gone again |
|
Oh and I don't wanna write god's name into my will |
|
I'll just care to make them wanna be in every promise, yeah |
|
Oh, and I chose the ??? the neighbors like to party |
|
Are you still now wishing I could see your eyes again? |
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I won't be thrown out all these memories apart |
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When in dreams, he knows then |
|
Patterns into dreams |
|
Listen all, it's like nothing's moving |
|
It's estranged |
|
From the trapped away |
|
Lines in between when the dead are standing out |
|
When we crack mother's spatula by walking the street |
|
Now I'm sour and aching for the clock four past twelve again |
|
And I'm sleeping from even seeing I turn out to be |
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I'm your black and shapes and all day frivoling |
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What I've seen won't even satisfy alone what you hold |
|
And we'll win ??? we're in |
|
We're deep, we make the shimmer out |
|
You're nothing any cold |
|
When in dreams, he knows then |
|
Patterns into dreams |
|
Listen all, it's like nothing's moving |
|
It's estranged |
|
From the trapped away |
|
[guitar break] |
