Whisper your song till the end.
drive me around that golden bend...

Sitting on an old chair in an old room.
sense of your being lifts the moon...

Morning is breaking upon a flow of a draft.
morning is growing reaching it hands up towards...

The sun will rise one last time.
Too the top of cliff plateau I have climbed...

The whispers are getting louder,
The whispers are getting louder...

He was a wannabe music journalist,
A wannabe musician...

Enraged too the bone, never felt so alone. Wanted...
Cocktails of deception from too many left her...

As bottles swallow the hopeless chord of Cinnamon...

Join me in the forests of fire.
Where love and joy burn higher...

In too the painting we go.
Flowing colors...

Whistled down the road last night
Not a danger too be seen in my eye sight...

Going through the routine..
going through the routine...