East Of The Wall
handshake in your mouth
Select language to translate this lyric
The distant mock of warmth: an aftertaste of the bodiesâ greeting collision.
Youâll never feel that again.
I thought I saw a rising tide dissolving the streets, and leaving blank shores.
I strained to hear the distant waves encroaching, eroding wood and home.
I canât recall the sound of footsteps, the scent of skin.
It washed away with the taste of ashes. I grind my teeth but itâs gone.
As we walk, weâll pass through the last of night, sick with dust and smiles.
The mock of warmth: youâll never feel that again.