| Ice, soften though I crave
|
| Often how we fought for that
|
| Inside, part of me has died
|
| But I haven’t photographs
|
| Could love keep us from changing
|
| Could love keep us from fucking this up
|
| Could love
|
| In time, we won’t recognize
|
| The underlying sentiment
|
| Folk stories of our lives
|
| And frozen black and white portraits
|
| Could love keep us from changing
|
| Could love keep us from fucking this up
|
| Could love
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up
|
| Baby, I don’t want to, want to give it up |