|
(Lock the doors) |
|
This city hides a secret at it's breast, |
|
(Shut the windows) |
|
I feel it's icy fingers on my neck, |
|
(Lock the doors) |
|
We built our perfect dream on shifting sand, |
|
(Shut the windows) |
|
Scattered in one motion of Gods hand, |
|
(We leave tonight) |
|
Take only that which you can't live without, |
|
(We leave tonight) |
|
Hot wheels on the cold ground. |
|
We disappear. |
|
We burn down. |
|
A black wind carries us out. |
|
We disappear. |
|
We fade out. |
|
With one glance, in the rear view mirror. |
|
(Suburba) |
|
It stocks your streets a lion in the reeds, |
|
(Suburba) |
|
Wakes you in a panic from you sleep, |
|
(Suburba) |
|
Your vanity and strength are washed away, |
|
(Suburba) |
|
Like the concrete moon is washed out by the day. |
|
You disappear. |
|
You burn down. |
|
A black wind carries you out. |
|
You disappear. |
|
You fade out. |
|
Your just mist, and the sun is rising now. |
