| It’s as if I’ve fallen with the fall
|
| Like leaves from trees, standing short and tall
|
| My lungs are frozen from the winter air
|
| A stale cold and respiratory flare
|
| Crimson scatters near the roots of the last soldier from the summer
|
| It’s as if the battle happened here and the bodies were buried under
|
| A tectonic drift and polar shift would ensure our camouflage
|
| It would be as if we never happened, and this place was a mirage
|
| We constantly collide with the troposphere
|
| We cut straight through like Roman spear
|
| Displacing oxygen like a paid assassin
|
| Promised to forget because it never happened
|
| It’s as if I’ve fallen with the fall
|
| Like leaves from trees, standing short and tall
|
| Crimson scatters near the roots of the last soldier from the summer
|
| It’s as if the battle happened here and the bodies were buried under
|
| Stimulating consequences rest on my conscience
|
| This addiction to the things we do is neither conventional or acknowledged
|
| An echo of existence
|
| Subsist in our commencement
|
| Limitations have escaped us
|
| Contrary to accepted thesis
|
| A tectonic drift and polar shift would ensure our camouflage
|
| It would be as if we never happened, and this place was a mirage
|
| We constantly collide with the troposphere
|
| We cut straight through like a Roman spear
|
| Displacing oxygen like a paid assassin
|
| Promised to forget because it never happened
|
| Crimson scatters near the roots of the last soldier from the summer
|
| It’s as if the battle happened here and the bodies were buried under
|
| An echo of existence
|
| Subsist in our commencement
|
| Limitations have escaped us
|
| Contrary to accepted thesis
|
| An echo of existence
|
| Limitations have escaped us
|
| An echo of existence |