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as i lay beneath this broken dead tree, she reminds
me through song. nothing pure to celebrate but these
broken pedals fill my head like a dead symphony.
they pile on and pile on
with nothing but the beat of her heart
in my head.
i should be fine with the sun so bright,
looks so perfect from below, but it's cold
and i'm told that i'm no good without my muse.
it's the sound of her voice, the sound of her voice that cleared my head, clears my headâ¦it was such a sweet noise.
i bury myself in hopes that what's left survives
but nothing survives these great divides
i should be fine with the sun so bright,
it looks so perfect from below, but it's cold and
i'm told that i'm no good without my muse.
it's the sound of her voice, the sound of her voice that cleared my head, clears my headâ¦it was such a sweet noise.
nothing matters if there is no guided humâ¦
nothing matters if there is no whisperâ¦
and god i try and i try so hard to hear the echo of a song,
it's the sound of her voice, the sound of her voice that cleared my head, clears my headâ¦it was such a sweet noise.