| Winter leaks inside my skin
|
| Into the open womb, my open womb
|
| The feeling is mean and full and red
|
| No matter how hard I try it makes no sound
|
| Summer breaks into my pores
|
| Into these holes I once knew well
|
| They once were strong
|
| The matter is gone and non persistent
|
| The more I try to feel the less realistic I become
|
| All feelings I have for red are dead
|
| Are dead, are dead and lonesome
|
| All feelings I have for red are dead
|
| You’re dead to me, to me, to me
|
| Fall fears the likes of me
|
| Even when the solar moon lets go of you
|
| The feeling is mean and full of black
|
| No matter how hard I try I can’t look back
|
| All feelings I have for red are dead
|
| Are dead, are dead and lonesome
|
| All feelings I have for red are dead
|
| You’re dead to me, to me, to me
|
| Walking on your grained path
|
| Searching for your mind
|
| Feeling once forgotten
|
| Loving you has died
|
| Spring kisses all my thoughts
|
| These strands of memories invading us throughout life…
|
| All feelings I have for red are dead
|
| Are dead, are dead and lonesome
|
| All feelings I have for red are dead
|
| You’re dead to me, to me, to me |