| Song | Colder Still |
| Artist | Nurse with Wound |
| Album | Thunder Perfect Mind |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Nurse With Wound | |
| Crops falling from the earth to the ceiling | |
| These small arms and white belly | |
| And enormous undercarriage | |
| The wax crayon illuminati | |
| Our minds locked in dark sewer | |
| Each finding less than before | |
| Each counting the warm conclusions | |
| Of the six buttons of sex appeal | |
| Knowing full well that ice breaks when smoke rises | |
| Sucked into a whole | |
| The ever floating karma of fried blind dog of the street | |
| Our purpose for the one and only | |
| Green form eats small headed breaded shrimp | |
| Allowing several coats of makeshift lolly | |
| On a lolly covered felt | |
| Shook with fear from lightning | |
| Falling several times in the wrong place | |
| Soaking up blindly the wings of our depression | |
| Floating up shiny columns of grey green primrose algae | |
| The piston awakes to a small tiny fire within himself | |
| Forcing the unwanted part of his mind into tiny fractions | |
| Each plied with coconut scissors | |
| All content, yet somehow familiar to Mothers everywhere | |
| It's been days now since my childhood dreams were fulfilled | |
| With crystal canyons and opera myths - | |
| Its thousand legs dribbling oil like may rain | |
| Over all-coloured mortar from way back when | |
| This gorgeous thigh is resting under his elbow | |
| Reminds me of clotted cream | |
| All bloody from strawberry tobbacco juice | |
| Hard halo of polystyrene pillow talk | |
| Mothers' milk cooking in the breat of paisley blue silk | |
| Like a mind in labour | |
| Bursting the waters of afterlife | |
| Drenched in the warm hot river | |
| Containing everything and nothing. |
| zuo qu : Nurse With Wound | |
| Crops falling from the earth to the ceiling | |
| These small arms and white belly | |
| And enormous undercarriage | |
| The wax crayon illuminati | |
| Our minds locked in dark sewer | |
| Each finding less than before | |
| Each counting the warm conclusions | |
| Of the six buttons of sex appeal | |
| Knowing full well that ice breaks when smoke rises | |
| Sucked into a whole | |
| The ever floating karma of fried blind dog of the street | |
| Our purpose for the one and only | |
| Green form eats small headed breaded shrimp | |
| Allowing several coats of makeshift lolly | |
| On a lolly covered felt | |
| Shook with fear from lightning | |
| Falling several times in the wrong place | |
| Soaking up blindly the wings of our depression | |
| Floating up shiny columns of grey green primrose algae | |
| The piston awakes to a small tiny fire within himself | |
| Forcing the unwanted part of his mind into tiny fractions | |
| Each plied with coconut scissors | |
| All content, yet somehow familiar to Mothers everywhere | |
| It' s been days now since my childhood dreams were fulfilled | |
| With crystal canyons and opera myths | |
| Its thousand legs dribbling oil like may rain | |
| Over allcoloured mortar from way back when | |
| This gorgeous thigh is resting under his elbow | |
| Reminds me of clotted cream | |
| All bloody from strawberry tobbacco juice | |
| Hard halo of polystyrene pillow talk | |
| Mothers' milk cooking in the breat of paisley blue silk | |
| Like a mind in labour | |
| Bursting the waters of afterlife | |
| Drenched in the warm hot river | |
| Containing everything and nothing. |
| zuò qǔ : Nurse With Wound | |
| Crops falling from the earth to the ceiling | |
| These small arms and white belly | |
| And enormous undercarriage | |
| The wax crayon illuminati | |
| Our minds locked in dark sewer | |
| Each finding less than before | |
| Each counting the warm conclusions | |
| Of the six buttons of sex appeal | |
| Knowing full well that ice breaks when smoke rises | |
| Sucked into a whole | |
| The ever floating karma of fried blind dog of the street | |
| Our purpose for the one and only | |
| Green form eats small headed breaded shrimp | |
| Allowing several coats of makeshift lolly | |
| On a lolly covered felt | |
| Shook with fear from lightning | |
| Falling several times in the wrong place | |
| Soaking up blindly the wings of our depression | |
| Floating up shiny columns of grey green primrose algae | |
| The piston awakes to a small tiny fire within himself | |
| Forcing the unwanted part of his mind into tiny fractions | |
| Each plied with coconut scissors | |
| All content, yet somehow familiar to Mothers everywhere | |
| It' s been days now since my childhood dreams were fulfilled | |
| With crystal canyons and opera myths | |
| Its thousand legs dribbling oil like may rain | |
| Over allcoloured mortar from way back when | |
| This gorgeous thigh is resting under his elbow | |
| Reminds me of clotted cream | |
| All bloody from strawberry tobbacco juice | |
| Hard halo of polystyrene pillow talk | |
| Mothers' milk cooking in the breat of paisley blue silk | |
| Like a mind in labour | |
| Bursting the waters of afterlife | |
| Drenched in the warm hot river | |
| Containing everything and nothing. |