| Storm, cast me out
|
| So I can feel it in another way
|
| I won’t talk about
|
| Woah, passenger’s hide
|
| If I can feed it for another day
|
| It might run me dry
|
| I know the seasons evolve to a freeze
|
| Putting hearts in the balance here
|
| It’s up to your knees
|
| And it’s shifting degrees
|
| And it’s choking your atmosphere
|
| Storm, wind me out
|
| So I can feel it in another way
|
| They won’t talk about
|
| Whoa, massacre sides
|
| Distant figure in a photograph
|
| Another eye
|
| I know your reason is stout
|
| And your freedoms dissolved in your passion dear
|
| It’s burning your eyes and it’s killing your mind
|
| And it’s poking your atmosphere
|
| But should you find it obscene in that gray
|
| All dramatic series young hearts say
|
| Lord, if you’ve got lungs
|
| Come on, shout me out
|
| But should you find it obscene in that gray
|
| All dramatic series young hearts say
|
| Lord, if you’ve got lungs
|
| Come on, shout me out |