1. |
Wounded Birds
02:04
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Let me sleep a minute more, it's so cold outside, and my eyelids are like burning coals. I don't mind if the whole world is fucked up and falls apart, if our homes start to burn. The hurricane comes near and it will tear apart our faith and even our names, so let's celebrate our birth. Once, we were wounded birds flying low, but tonight we spread our wings above the clouds. Take your pictures of the good times, and bury them in the ground, so they can't find them in a million years from now. And if in the end nothing remains of us, our better memories will grow up in the yard.
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2. |
Elsie
02:08
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This is the last flare I can burn for you. I know it's late to speak these words, but I swear you they're true. Your scent is in every corner of this fucking city. The same old city, the same old feelings. Every night I pray to see you again beside me. Every night I see your eyes in the roof and I can't sleep. Now she will never come back, she left a hole in my heart. You said you can't have all you want in this life, and since that day there's nothing but regrets in my hands. The voice of Brian comes out from the stereo, he's singing 'bout another girl, and every verse in the song reminds me to you. The storm comes closer, and I'm a sinking ship. The days are darker since you're not here, with me.
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3. |
Sunday Morning
01:27
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Life was laughing off its ass, and the joke was on us, so we put our coats on and came out for a walk. And then you, or me, or maybe both of us said "it wasn't meant to be like this", or at least that was the general idea I took from all of our conversations. And look at us, we're still not rock stars. Look at us, we're at the same place. Look at us, we're still not rock stars, but who the hell cares if we're having the times of our lives.
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4. |
Closed Windows
03:16
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I have always wondered what's hidden behind closed windows of the building in front of my home. Old furniture, spiderwebs, empty corridors, dust floating through sunbeams. And I wonder if a family lived between those walls, and how were their lives, were them sad or were them happy. I can hear the moan of ghosts coming through those windows, closed like eyelids. And it haunts me the doubt if they're screaming my name.
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