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Contained in my cotton crib |
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Where I feel no turbulence |
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The ocean sleeps upon a shelf |
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And it feeds my apathy |
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But I can feel it in the night |
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Like rain upon my skin inside a winter |
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But you began to splinter |
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If I decide to recognise my thorns |
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Cause every time I see your face in a cloud |
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I feel no violence |
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So tilt the water 'til it turns me around |
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To my own asylum |
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Dry in the day, and fading away in the night |
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I feel the sun before it's light |
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And it fades away into the night |
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I was afraid, I feed myself |
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I cleared the shelf and killed the shame |
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But I can feel it in the night |
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Collect the rocks and throw them over borders |
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To shake the muddy waters |
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And clear myself from hiding every thorn |
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Cause every time I see your face in a cloud |
|
I feel no violence |
|
So tilt the water 'til it turns me around |
|
To my own asylum |
|
Dry in the day, and fading away |
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And we grow |
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From a garden where all that we know |
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You're just a fool for him |
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For him |
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For him |
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Cause every time I see your face in a cloud |
|
I feel no violence |
|
So tilt the water 'til it turns me around |
|
To my own asylum |
|
Dry in the day, and fading away |
|
Dry in the day, and fading away |
|
Dry in the day, and fading away in the night |
