pounding away in the back of my head
|
until i've almost lost myself
|
and those red and black patterns
|
in which nothing happens
|
have made me sleep
|
|
|
a beautiful voice is a nail
|
being pulled out of wood
|
carry on little hammer
|
you were always my favourite toy
|
|
|
when the world's dead to me
|
in my soft ??? fortunate cushion of pins(?)
|
is a soldier
|
slicing thin(?) through(?) thin(?)
|
the unfortunate truth sneaking in
|
|
-----------------
|
Little Hammer
|
| Pale Saints |
