| The night has fallen down the staircase
|
| And I, for one, have felt its bruises
|
| Equilbrium, inebriated
|
| Our social graces have been displaced
|
| As we sink deeper into the drink
|
| The volume increases
|
| Night time resurrects fault lines
|
| Silent wars rumble somewhere below
|
| The surfaces versus
|
| The surfaces versus
|
| The shoe is dropped, lungs explode
|
| Shards of words of a shattered voice
|
| And there’s still a hole where the phone was thrown
|
| Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah
|
| Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah
|
| The moon is rising, a revolution
|
| I close my eyes, and the room is spinning
|
| You’re screaming, «Sweetie, the moon has raped me
|
| It has left its seeds like a tomb inside me
|
| So I must learn to abort these feelings
|
| This romance is bleeding»
|
| Night time triggers the land mines
|
| Bedroom wounds, lovers like brigadiers
|
| Marching two by two
|
| Marching two by two
|
| A soldier’s down
|
| Flood gates burst
|
| I’ve said things I wish you’d never heard
|
| Like, «There's still a hole
|
| Where the phone was thrown»
|
| It’s growing as we speak
|
| And it’s sucking us both in
|
| A vacuum of sorrow
|
| To swallow up the day |