I am starting to sense your location
|
You are somewhere in the attic
|
Looking something close to tragic
|
Knitting T-shirts and your mattress
|
I'm floating up the stairwell
|
With my toes grazing the cedar
|
Thinking softly what a tinder box we live in
|
And what a flammable heart I've been given
|
|
You could be in several different places
|
I am sensing your location
|
|
I am starting to sense your location
|
You are somewhere in the basement
|
Beating on a makeshift drum kit
|
Songs that I can hardly stomach
|
I'm floating up the stairwell
|
With my fingers shaking frantic
|
Thinking softly what a concrete mess we live in
|
And what a icebox heart I've been given
|
|
You could be in several different places
|
I am sensing your location
|
You could be in several different
|
I am starting to sense your locale now
|
|
I am starting to sense your location
|
In an old abandoned mansion
|
In the country side of England
|
Spirits trapped inside the linens
|
And you're feeling quite at home there
|
Also feeling somewhat lonely
|
No one sees you in your pixelated fishnets
|
And your black and orange barrettes
|
|
You could be in several different places
|
I am sensing your location
|
You could be in several different
|
I am starting to sense your locale now
|
|
Oh please believe the ghost in me
|
is doing what I can to find you out
|
|
-----------------
|
Location
|
| Freelance Whales |
