squawk calls the morning crow
she says it's time to go
go on, go on, like you always do
nights quiet, quiet like ears filled with goo
green light of the traffic light
she says it's just another night
screech of the tyres on wet plight
sudden sound of a crushed white
and in that car a couple sits
voiceless, voiceless, desperate creeps
i think maybe she knows, she knows
dreams tells stories like ribbons make bows
slivers of a cigarette tail
he holds death in his hands like a nail
hammer ready to hit, hit, hit
red blood, oh bleed bleed bleed
she thinks maybe it's time, it's time. the bottled relief calls a name unholy. buzzkill begone. she just needs a little time-out.
she says it's time to go
go on, go on, like you always do
nights quiet, quiet like ears filled with goo
green light of the traffic light
she says it's just another night
screech of the tyres on wet plight
sudden sound of a crushed white
and in that car a couple sits
voiceless, voiceless, desperate creeps
i think maybe she knows, she knows
dreams tells stories like ribbons make bows
slivers of a cigarette tail
he holds death in his hands like a nail
hammer ready to hit, hit, hit
red blood, oh bleed bleed bleed
she thinks maybe it's time, it's time. the bottled relief calls a name unholy. buzzkill begone. she just needs a little time-out.
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