Interrupted by the TV
The white noise whispers trust.
The walls have paintings of children by the waves.
Im lost and this room isnt mine.
The TV's rust now...
I think I'm hungover from being alive.
Why I hear the rain?
The window shows me sun.
Silhouettes again....
I recognize no one.
A summer walk down
The path of Winter's dusk.
A grain of treasure beheld by my kin
Now I am left in dust.
My head refracts the scene
Of these images forgot.
Listen to your words beyond the trees
Listen to your words behind the trees
I'm granted silence, through the words that value nothing but air.
Noir is not a word
It is only a must.
All I can do for you
Is give you a tribute or 2
But I dont have to speak about your glory
For mine means nothing to you
And now we'll never meet
And be aside these city streets.
Orange Fields Tend to be Sour.
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 8:31 AM UTC
Interrupted by the TV
The white noise whispers trust.
The walls have paintings of children by the waves.
Im lost and this room isnt mine.
The TV's rust now...
I think I'm hungover from being alive.
Why I hear the rain?
The window shows me sun.
Silhouettes again....
I recognize no one.
A summer walk down
The path of Winter's dusk.
A grain of treasure beheld by my kin
Now I am left in dust.
My head refracts the scene
Of these images forgot.
Listen to your words beyond the trees
Listen to your words behind the trees
I'm granted silence, through the words that value nothing but air.
Noir is not a word
It is only a must.
All I can do for you
Is give you a tribute or 2
But I dont have to speak about your glory
For mine means nothing to you
And now we'll never meet
And be aside these city streets.
Orange Fields Tend to be Sour.