lyric

So you take her to the pictures,trying to become a fixture.Inch by inch trying to reach her,all the way through the second feature.Worrying about your physical fitness,tell me how you got this sickness?

But every stroke of the brush, every lyric, every word whispered between human beings resulted from the pain of being alone. In our haunted heads, our imperfect bodies. Islands carved from clay and bone, our skulls like shells full of mist.

No use wishing now for any other sin.