Will you still come visit me in my dreams?
Drape [?] with the silver screen
We will make the microphones
Kicking doors in, break what you entering
Paper thin walls, echo as we've seen
We will make the microphones
Dark skies, white lights
The image of the forest comes down
Sickest than our sickest secrets
Too deep, to sleep
When all I wanted was a word
I wanted and you helped me keep it
In a cold world nobody ever wins
Music is the heart who has no friends
She was made for microphones
You can buy love, borrowing from your soul
When the bank breaks you are not your own
Nowhere left to rest your bones
White lights, stop right
The image of the forest comes down
Sickest than our sickest secrets
Too deep, to sleep
When all I wanted was a word
I wanted and you helped me keep it