Besedila: The Morning Of. Grey Turning Gold, Turning Light.

The gears inside me grind,
to a rhythm that makes these sparks fly in my mind.
I make myself beautiful wih an absensce of complextion.
Cynical with hopes and dreams,
my white flag is raised and in this scheme,
I see the start to a new direction.`

Though failure is fleeting,
now the atmosphere's retreating

Come on baby dive right in,
lets sin with a little skin on skin,
oh i've been knocking all night
but you still won't let me in.
Come on baby dive right in,
lets sin with a little skin on skin,
ill make you finish first
and then i'll add your ego in.

they scarcely corragate the surface with a wind of accidental burden,
we all wear lips that are cold bruised overused in tales of racy pasquinade

The wind might catch me,
capture and dispatch me