From the painter
To the painted.
The colours are lined up, but only leave stains on the side.
You, the prisoner.
You, the warden.
Praying on 'almost' is keeping us unified.
Soaked to the skin as your pride hits the ground,
Shaking your shoulders with every sound.
But it's only courage calling,
And every nerve wants me to run out of its arms.
How many long years
Holding onto your senses?
And hooked on the stories from windows against copper skies.
Kick the cup of hatred
Into the corner,
For in the soft light, I can see hope in your eyes.
And under the dust there are chords from before,
And under my fingers the melody's raw.
It's courage that keeps calling,
And every nerve wants me to run into your arms.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
From the painter
To the painted.
The colours are lined up, but only leave stains on the side.
You, the prisoner.
You, the warden.
Praying on 'almost' is keeping us unified.
Soaked to the skin as your pride hits the ground,
Shaking your shoulders with every sound.
But it's only courage calling,
And every nerve wants me to run out of its arms.
How many long years
Holding onto your senses?
And hooked on the stories from windows against copper skies.
Kick the cup of hatred
Into the corner,
For in the soft light, I can see hope in your eyes.
And under the dust there are chords from before,
And under my fingers the melody's raw.
It's courage that keeps calling,
And every nerve wants me to run into your arms.
Come listen to the track...
https://soundcloud.com/wingless-night/courage-1
