So sharp these little knives,
how sweet that sounds of yore.
They cut me out of life,
built this trojan horse.
That shit don't even hurt,
tickles like a feather.
I'm a space between the lines,
and even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.
And I break against your walls,
there's nothing there to graple.
Come rattle in my heart,
and shoot away my apple.
My head didn't even move,
tired I stayed open.
I'm a space between the lines,
and even this shall pass.
Fadin' Glommy June.
I set fire to your trees,
looking for some action.
No dice, no jamboree.
Ain't got no bristol fashion.
Well, that shit don't even hurt,
tickles like a feather.
I'm a space between the lines,
and even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.
So sharp these little knives,
how sweet that sounds of yore.
I'm a space between the lines,
and even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.

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