Woorden: Calabrese. Death Of Me.

My sewn up lips by your black fingertips
cold entwined and evermore
openings and closing
something u cant ever find
vivid pumpkins grin in nines
its only imagination, baby

we are but one burning fun
falling endlessly in hell
it was our choice for all eternity

closing your eyes while driving along
crashing in to murder walls,
rebel angels and the victims of our youth