Besedila:
After The Sirens

I'm tired of seeing you boxed up in cardboard and army fatigue, threadbare in 20 degrees. And I'll be walking around you so lightly, hoping that you won

How vaguely we eschew complicity with You, it's always run-arounds, excuses and words we bind to nooses just to sullenly let swing the best of arbitrary

My fingers are white like whispers and the lips that consume them are flames for lack of better things to set on fire. My knees are red like rumors from

I can't be expected to hold this up. You're spinning tops and when they drop, am I responsible? Is what you're telling me? Well I'll give my money if

Come home! I am so temporary, tell me I can sing to You with my mouth so full of blood. I am so fragile, tell me I can run to You when I can hardly stand

I thought of writing you a song in a tired repetition of the words I meant to sing you all along but never did. I have some great appreciation for lunar

not be here if you were. And so much for forever; forever's almost never what we make it out to be. One more ever-after will fade and our friendship

I meant to see you one more time in that white dress splashed with brine from the northern coast where we learned our lessons the first time. A line

Welcome to the last time that You can buy my answer with less than a question. I would sell the hands off my wrists if they weren't so preoccupied with