| I was starting to shake
|
| From the days I’ve been up
|
| There’s a lot on my plate
|
| And the ones I loved stopped answering
|
| They left me to find myself
|
| In my own hate
|
| I work all alone with cynical taste
|
| And the day I get out
|
| Is the day I’ll be made
|
| I was cut out of stone
|
| And carved with a blade
|
| Head down with all of my hardships
|
| There’s nothing too strong
|
| That I can’t face
|
| Don’t stop 'till you finally have it
|
| It should be more like a habit
|
| Come down
|
| All the fighting’s over
|
| I let you breathe your own air
|
| I will set my arms down in a corner
|
| When I turn around
|
| You will tell me how you’re up now
|
| From your dream of clovers
|
| Said, «not a thing will compare
|
| To the sense you give me, and disorder
|
| When you turn around
|
| And I can’t breathe»
|
| There wasn’t a trace
|
| Of the war letting up
|
| And the days went on late
|
| I struggled
|
| And I fell to solid ground
|
| It led me to my escape
|
| Now here I am outside of your gate
|
| I was hoping you could
|
| Come down
|
| All the fighting’s over
|
| I let you breathe your own air
|
| I will set my arms down in a corner
|
| When I turn around
|
| You will tell me how you’re up now
|
| From your dream of clovers
|
| Said, «not a thing will compare
|
| To the sense you give me, and disorder
|
| When you turn around
|
| And I can’t breathe»
|
| I came to say sorry
|
| I shouldn’t have left
|
| But my bitterness got to me
|
| Before you did
|
| And now I’m laying in gardens
|
| Where we start over again
|
| I know that you got me
|
| And this is it
|
| Come down
|
| All the fighting’s over
|
| I let you breathe your own air
|
| I will set my arms down in a corner
|
| When I turn around
|
| You will tell me how you’re up now
|
| From your dream of clovers
|
| Said, «not a thing will compare
|
| To the sense you give me, and disorder
|
| When you turn around
|
| And I can’t breathe» |