Woorden: Cloud Cult. Jaded Fable.

The fields are overturned

The skies all been burnt

I am feeling rather strange



(?) drunk on whiskey

Princesses bred for fifty

I feel a little colder every day



Mother I'm not safe

You'll find me buried in the fields

With buffalo murdered for game



Mother will you say

That I'm dressed up for the kill

And there's something slowly wasting me away



You are my only friend

You are my wasted angel

And like before, you mean much more to me



You are my coming end

You are my jaded fable

And like before, you mean much more to me