| There’s a place behind a tiny door
|
| Where there are vines and even roses
|
| I can let the thorns so you can feel again
|
| And press them in your skin
|
| And when we start to breath again rolling out
|
| Spiralling down on this planet
|
| The road’s just swirling blue
|
| Now you feel it like I do, like I do
|
| Now you feel it like I do, like I do
|
| I swear you stand so still your hands
|
| And fingers made of porcelain and holding me
|
| Frozen
|
| There’s a place behind a tiny door
|
| Where there are vines and even roses
|
| I can let the thorns so you can feel again
|
| And press them in your skin
|
| And when we start to breath again rolling out
|
| Spiralling down on this planet
|
| The road’s just swirling blue
|
| Now you feel it I do, like I do
|
| Now you feel it like I do, like I do
|
| I swear you stand so still your hands
|
| And fingers made of porcelain you holding me (holding me)
|
| We fall down in the grass
|
| We’re spinning somewhere far and fast
|
| The universe expands
|
| Spiralling down
|
| Now you feel it like I do, like I do
|
| Now you mean it like I do, like I do
|
| I swear you stand so still your hands
|
| And fingers made of porcelain you holding me
|
| Spiralling down on this planet
|
| The road’s just swirling blue |