Terrified
Isolated and...
Coughing up
Obituaries...
Couldn't you stay away ? Don't write my
Obituary yet for I'm not ready to die; I'm 32...
A musty shoebox
letters tied with faded bow...
yet again I find
myself facing the wall...
Beatings many,
love notes few...
{Chorus/Hook}:
I'm swept, By Your Rapture...
Yeah yeah,
there’s the pillow...
my sleep is awake in me,
I tried to put it to sleep...
for a moment, I would like to see
the sun...
I count all the holes in my heart
since we said goodbye and...
you buried me in
bitter orange and oak...