Из альбома: Dead Language
Wait, won't you stop running
I've been smoking all too much.
Taste the blood pool in my mouth,
as I try to catch up.
Fade, my head floats wildly
as everything starts to rust
Take a breath and choke up on this
wandering wanderlust
Woah!
The can collectors
seem to know us better
when we're singing about those days
and I can't remember
where I found your letters
but they're drifting as ashes away
Woah!
Grace, push every ounce of your air into my dead lungs
Tear, me from the hell to which I could never succumb
Wail with all your might on my bones to sober me up
Stare directly into that burning Ossington sun
Pull out my heart just for
The can collectors
seem to know us better
when we're singing about those days
and I can't remember
where I found your letters
but they're drifting as ashes away, away
The can collectors
seem to know us better
when we're singing about those days!
and I can't remember (can't remember)
where I found your letters
but they're drifting as ashes away
Woah! Yeah!