My scales don't shine, and my eyes are sinking. I'm soft to the touch. There's a hook in my mouth attached to an unraveling thread making patterns with the omnipotent surface. I'm simply unpalatable. I'd die to lie atop an ice sculpture. It was horrible how they tossed away our heads and plucked out our white pin bones, but it's these times I'm told we find are tough and taste like our teardrops as if we've been living in our own torn-aparts. Jar my neck to the sky only to suck in calamity, it's what I need, the need to breath deep.
With it's jagged edges sawed, I thought I thawed you out, but I see now, that your hands are still cold.
Гуру Песен