Here we sit in tombstones in the mud,
|
like it¡¯s where we want to be.
|
It¡¯s impossible to feel sacred in this lie,
|
in this aerial fantasy.
|
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Now that the day is done I can see colours at night,
|
and everyone says I¡¯ve been running tired,
|
kept my head up sunshine,
|
today will be fine,
|
and I¡¯ve been trying my heart out.
|
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Lazy ways,
|
claustrophobic holidays,
|
where we all have funny plans,
|
and to fade disparate
|
like some temporary skin,
|
is a feat that changes hands.
|
|
Now that the day is done I can see colours at night
|
and everyone says I¡¯ve been running tired,
|
kept my head up sunshine,
|
today will be fine,
|
and I¡¯ve been trying my heart out.
|
|
If this streets air ain¡¯t up to par,
|
I¡¯ll take my clothes, and take this strange behaviour.
|
Not only liked but loved as well.
|
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If this keeps tearing me apart,
|
the walls come down won¡¯t stop this empty feeling,
|
for everything apart from this.
|
|
It¡¯s only been a year,
|
English garden,
|
and you¡¯re farther away,
|
it¡¯s only been a week,
|
dangerous mountain
|
suffer more than a day,
|
I¡¯ve been climbing out the hole fish ligatures
|
travelling along and but I¡¯m well,
|
it¡¯s only been a year
|
got me wondering,
|
for sure or for sad,
|
it¡¯s only been a year,
|
and I never called,
|
as soon as I escape,
|
for sure or for sad.
|
Ahhahahahahoowhaooahahahah, ect¡¦
|
|
-----------------
|
English Garden
|
| Silverchair |
