Mar 8
Our love
Runs cold.
Memories of us
Now stale and old.
No word we utter
When coming home.
Just you and I,
In an empty lie,
Turning to stone.
Runs cold.
Memories of us
Now stale and old.
No word we utter
When coming home.
Just you and I,
In an empty lie,
Turning to stone.
