I'm sitting with the grey of being alone...
Writing little pieces of songs that I've already sung before.
There's something cold about watching the seconds play on my stereo.
The sound of my heart is crawling in the back of my throat...
Do you think its possible to live, in the grey, warm?
Writing little pieces of songs that I've already sung before.
There's something cold about watching the seconds play on my stereo.
The sound of my heart is crawling in the back of my throat...
Do you think its possible to live, in the grey, warm?