I've grown tired in full swing,
vindicating syllables I sing -
ease your muscles from the haul,
the storm and stress, the storm and stress
I cannot lift a bone,
but still they're coming after me.
I cannot speak a tone,
and still they're coming after me.
In the latest time of day,
with the whistles in my head,
and not one of them will dare to say
that I was born into your deathbed
The swarm can hear me sing,
oh, the warmth it lives in every string.
Long before I awake into a fever,
this standstill makes me a believer.
And all I am to do
is to call out loud and clear,
is to call out for you in fear
that we might not be on the same page here.
I've drained my veins in the nightlife,
every single tone rolled off my skin.
colour my bones under black lights
I will not do this on my own.
And as I've shaken off all constraint
this life might just seem charming.
For those who cannot hear,
I only ask for you to stay,
so when I awake, we're all the same
I'd like you to make me believe,
that all I have sung,
is just a metaphor
for something that I can't ignore.
And all the secrets I hold,
that we shared under oath,
are just another way
for me to say
that after all those years...
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