| Plastic leaves and whitened teeth
|
| Are littering the floor
|
| All these screens, the disparate themes
|
| «What do you adore?»
|
| The violet light that angles me
|
| Composes my decor
|
| Searching for a better way
|
| Not to feel so torn
|
| I’ve been tired searching for
|
| I’ve been tired searching for
|
| Tired wreaths, worn memories
|
| And writing on the floor
|
| Chelsea runs and asks of me
|
| «What are these wrists for?»
|
| The city kids were lost for weeks
|
| Pushed out the door
|
| Searching for a better way
|
| Not to feel so torn
|
| I’ve been tired searching for
|
| I’ve been tired searching for
|
| She, she can’t remember when
|
| She felt her own age
|
| She didn’t need to live
|
| On her own stage
|
| She, she can’t remember when
|
| She felt her own age
|
| She didn’t need to live
|
| On her own stage
|
| Chelsea sits and begs of me
|
| «Oh, what do I live for?»
|
| I am now remembering
|
| But always so unsure
|
| Crazy man, he laughs at me
|
| He’s pointing out the door
|
| There’s nothing but transparent breeze
|
| «What do you want more?»
|
| I’ve been tired searching for
|
| I’ve been tired searching for
|
| I’ve been tired searching for
|
| I’ve been tired searching for |