Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Capillaries , by - The Riot Before. Song from the album Fists Buried in Pockets, in the genre ПанкRelease date: 08.10.2015
Record label: Say-10
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Capillaries , by - The Riot Before. Song from the album Fists Buried in Pockets, in the genre ПанкCapillaries |
| We build utopian empires |
| We construct policy |
| Slumped over on bar stools |
| Stumbling through the streets |
| We are dreaming in vacuums |
| Where there’s no gravity |
| All the words that we say never hold any weight |
| They are polished, they’re perfect, pristine |
| Show cars on the street |
| Singing tongues over rhythm |
| Always searching for words |
| I’m alone in the backseat |
| In communion with chords |
| Tightened strings over fret boards |
| Transcend the distance of stars |
| But the light that’s received is distant history |
| The present still lost in the dark |
| The downtown is deserted for suburbs and strip malls |
| The country inverted lit up by a cell phone |
| I’m mindlessly scrolling through numbers I won’t ever choose |
| 'Cause I can’t call you |
| I wish I could call you |
| There is a dim light that shines from the opposite side of the lake |
| A haze over water, that something I can’t quite attain |
| There is a canvas whose blankness is screaming, keeps me awake |
| I am wrong, I am flawed, but I am saved |
| So it’s cheap beer and late nights just sitting outside talking dreams |
| That’s how I remember it |
| It’s blood always making its way to the tiniest veins |
| That’s how I remember it |
| I woke on the floor of a stranger’s apartment |
| Refilled pockets with spilled change |
| I walked out the front door into the descending rain |
| Occupying the empty space |
| Between the lines filling history’s |
| Pages of war, kings, of famine, and fortune |
| The leaders, the fallen, magnificent chosen |
| Though I am a drop in the largest of oceans |
| Through unceasing motion |
| I’ll cling to the constants |
| Sunrise and the sunset |
| Tempered yet unquiet |
| With fists buried in pockets |
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