viernes, 8 de junio de 2012

No, it isn't.

Esta canción es gris. Está hecha de lluvia y de confusión. De sentimientos encontrados.

De mirar por la ventana sin ver.

I listen to you talk, but talk is cheap
and my mouth is filled with blood
from trying not to speak.
So search for an excuse
and someone to believe you
in foreign dressing rooms,
I'm empty with the need to

Curse my enemies forever,
let's slit our wrists and burn
down something beautiful.
This desperation leaves me overjoyed
with fading lights that lead us
past the lives that we destroy.

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