the stubble on my face engraves my lack of compassion
|
i'm counting grass blades to pass the time
|
queen-sized comfort awaits my tired eyes
|
|
remember me?
|
i'm your satire's locksmith
|
|
you referred to the way of the sword as hope
|
despite the blade in your back
|
two days pass and there is still no sign of the sun
|
but you wait calmly playing checkers with your gut instinct
|
|
on the contrary to the heart's self-imprisonment
|
your horse-shoes fall like hail
|
|
remember me?
|
i'm your satire's locksmith
|
|
you referred to the way of the sword as hope
|
despite the blade in your back
|
two days pass and there is still no sign of the sun
|
but you wait calmly playing checkers with your gut instinct
|
|
i hear your name in the wind
|
my collapsible heart skips a beat
|
you remain in my head only as a bitter-sweet memory
|
|
i've given up sleep
|
so i can pray for you
|
|
day by day, i bite my tongue
|
|
i hear your name in the wind
|
my collapsible heart skips a beat
|
you remain in my head only as a bitter-sweet memory
|
|
the mental song is sung
|
it shakes the ground beneath you
|
|
-----------------
|
Thats The Way You Debate
|
| Winter Solstice |
